Casting Mountains In The Sea
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Pre-Series. When Mac and a team of Army EOD's are pinned down in treacherous Taliban territory, it is up to Jack and his Delta teammates to get them out.
1. Chapter 1

Casting Mountains in the Sea

By: Ridley C. James

A/N: This is the prequel to How Wolves Change Rivers. It is a special request by fellow writer **Helloyesimhere** , and actually does have some relation to the next chapter of Guard Your Heart. It is complete and will be posted in chapters throughout next week, but I wanted to kick off 'Finale Friday' with a bang!

Please excuse my lack of knowledge of all things Afghanistan. Honestly, I tried to do my homework, I even looked at maps, but it made my brain hurt. To make a long story short, creative license runs amok in this one! I have the greatest respect for our military and would never want to paint the tremendous job they do in the wrong light. I know what they face daily is often times horrific and stressful, so I have focused more on those 'details', as emotional trauma and post stress disorders are more in my area of expertise instead of the technical aspects that so many other writers are much better at. Check out **Gib's** amazing story _Lands, and Grooves Hills and Valleys_ if you want awesome military action and G.I. Jack at his finest. She was kind enough to lend a little of her expertise to this story, which I am forever grateful, but all blunders are mine. A huge gratitude as well to **Mary** , who patiently combed through this with her eagle eye and warm heart and made it a much better piece.

Again, keep in mind this is in my little world of how Jack and Mac met, which occurred when Jack's Delta unit 'borrowed' Mac's EOD skills. Despite the show telling us they fought together in Afghanistan and/or Iraq, we do not know the specifics, so please take everything I say with a grain of salt. Enjoy! Reviews are always welcomed.

RcJ

"Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark."-Rabindranath Tagore

Jack Dalton was not a particularly religious man, not like his newest teammate David Wright, aptly nicknamed The Deacon. He did not go to church regularly. He swore more than he should. He gambled. He drank. He knew women 'biblically' on a steady basis without offering as much as a follow up phone call let alone considering a sacred commitment such as marriage vows. And he robbed. Jack Wyatt Dalton stole lives for a living.

He didn't carry a copy of The New Testament with him as Deacon did, but, Jack, like most soldiers, would have been lying if he said he didn't bring God into battle with him. It was a hope as necessary as his weapons and rations, a protection as real as his flak jacket. Jack had seen too many horrific atrocities not to be a bit cynical of the good and gracious Father Jack's grandparents served faithfully at home in Texas, but he had also witnessed too many miracles to completely write off the idea that something bigger, _someone_ better, might lay just beyond the reaches of human sight and comprehension. Of course, Jack also secretly believed in aliens. That didn't stop him from praying to a God he wasn't quite sure existed, although sometimes the Big Guy seemed almost as elusive and fantastical as ET and the creature Sigourney Weaver found floating in space.

Jack prayed for absolution after every kill, he asked that the fallen might be someplace better. He prayed for protection for his team before each mission. On occasion he'd begged and bargained with God for the pain to just stop while being tortured or for perseverance when he didn't think he could complete one more leg of a mission let alone accomplish the directive. But Jack had never prayed quite as hard as he did the day he and his men infiltrated a strong hold of Taliban forces in Helmand Province. It was a strike to save one of their own, a last ditch effort to rescue Jack's best friend, his little brother, Angus MacGyver.

"Tell me he's not freaking cheating!" Deacon tossed his cards on the table, gesturing to the two men at the table who weren't raking in the chips the three of them had just lost in the last round.

"Gosh, darn it, Deac," Landry mocked their new teammate's reluctance to use the four-lettered language that usually accompanied their poker games. "I think you're right. Old Jack here is definitely trying to swindle us."

"A guy doesn't have to cheat when he's as good as I am." Jack waved a hand over the pot he'd just pulled to his side of the table. He winked at Landry before sending an accusing frown Deacon's way. "Besides, I didn't think you do-gooders were supposed to go about slandering a guy's good name."

"It's not slander if it is true, pal. Even Jesus had righteous anger for the crooks in His temple." Deacon ran a hand over his close-cropped strawberry blond hair, wrinkling his freckled nose. He'd been with them for only a few months, freshly recruited from the Air Force. He was as squeaky clean as they came, but a damn good chopper pilot. "I don't know how you're doing it, but there's no way you've drawn those last three hands fair and square."

"I'll tell you my secret, Deacon, all you have to do is ask."

"Don't ask," Landry advised.

"Maybe he's just blessed?" Pauley chimed in before Deacon could speak. "It could be that Jack has an inside track to some miracles that you don't know about Deacon. Maybe there's a Guardian angel or a saint especially for Texas card sharks."

"And here I thought that was a St. Michael pendant I caught sight of on your chain." Deacon played along good naturedly. He'd taken his fair share of ribbing over the last few weeks, a customary and harmless hazing by Jack's team.

"Actually it's St. Jude," Jack grinned, thinking of the day his nana had given it to him. St. Michael would have made more sense seeing as how Jack had just signed on for his first tour and Michael was the patron saint of soldiers, but Jack's grandmother, Beth, had a wicked sense of humor. "He's the one who looks after lost causes."

Landry snorted. "Knowing Dalton there's nothing holy involved. A salty deal with the Devil is more likely. In fact, considering his score card, I've always wondered if he wasn't a protégé of the old Grim Reaper himself."

"You boys are a sorry bunch of bastards as well as sore losers." Jack collected his money, tossing a twenty back towards Deacon. "There's my ten percent, Pastor. Send it to the missionaries."

"Bless you, brother." Deacon took the money, tucking it in his pocket. "I still think you're a stinking cheat."

Jack grinned, stacking his winnings. "Scared money never wins."

"What?" Deacon frowned.

"That's my secret," Jack tucked the roll of winnings in his pocket. "I'm always confident when I'm playing the odds."

"Told you not to ask." Landry rolled his eyes. "The more you're around Jack the more you'll learn to embrace the mystery. You don't want to hear 'the world according to Tombstone' spiel. Trust me."

Jack was kept from defending his good name to the new guy by the dulcet bellowing of their commanding officer.

"Dalton!"

Jack winced, scanning his memory for anything he might have done on the latest mission to warrant the grim tone he recognized in Hammond's hollering. "In here, Sir?"

All the men gathered around the make-shift table stood, although none but Deacon bothered with the preamble of saluting. The subtle differences between being a soldier in the Air Force and a Delta 'operator' was taking a little time to make an impression on the newbie. You could take a guy out of a regulation uniform but it took a while for the regulations to wear off.

"Put your hand down, Opie Taylor," Hammond growled, using the handle he'd liked for their ginger-haired teammate, not realizing that the Andy Griffith reference was probably wasted on the kid who was a generation or three behind Hammond. "R&R is cancelled. We've got a new assignment. We'll be heading out ASAP."

"What?" Jack propped his hands on his hips, glaring at his commander. He'd served with Perseus Hammond long enough to offer up argument despite their difference in rank.

"We just got in from a mission, one in which Landry took a round to the vest," Jack gestured to the man next to him. "And Pauley caught blow back from a building and suffered a concussion. You told us to stand down for the next few turns."

When Hammond's face reddened Jack added an offhanded. "Sir."

"This is a special situation that requires a certain skill set."

Jack, having heard this spin so many times, tried to hold his temper. "Meaning no one else wants to take the damn mission because it's probably gone sideways and the higher ups want it scrubbed and whoever was behind it erased."

"Suicide mission," Pauley clarified for Deacon, who was looking a little befuddled at the heated exchange. "We get those a lot."

"It's FUBAR, that's for damn sure." Instead of shouting, which Jack fully intended, Hammond ran a hand over his barely their silver hair and sighed. "Army has a garrison pinned down in Helmand Province, near Barikju. Unexpected Taliban activity in the area had an envoy sent in to pull them out, but insurgents have cut off the routes into the town. The 3rd combat engineers ordered to aid in the recovery has been providing long range fire to keep the Taliban from completely taking the compound but the team needs to be out of there ASAP."

"Helmand?" Landry groaned. "Didn't we just agree to turn that hell-hole over to the farce of a local police and be done with it? Every time we gain ground in that area, the Taliban come back ten-fold."

"I freaking hate Helmand," Jack said. He heard Pauley let loose with a string of four-lettered words he was sure had Deacon's face lighting up like a Christmas tree. Helmand was one of the most southern provinces of Afghanistan, a district of strategic towns and villages, not to mention a gateway for Opium production. Not only did the Taliban forces have a constant stronghold there, the locals hated and resented the military presence. Jack couldn't blame them considering the Taliban were damn smart in using their fellow citizens as human shields which meant a high number of civilian casualties. "Why don't the Devil Dogs from Camp Leatherneck handle it or those British bastards fond of blowing their own trumpets from Bastion?"

"You're going to want to be in on this one, Tombstone." Hammond took an empty chair and spun it around, straddling the seat as he faced Jack and motioned for everyone to reclaim their respective spots. His face was grim and Jack felt an old familiar knot of fear start to coil in the bottom of his gut. "The Army sent a team into Kajaki to help British soldiers secure and sweep the area around the hydroelectric installation there."

Jack nodded, understanding the wisdom in that strategy. "The damn has to be held because it provides irrigation for the entire Helmand valley."

"And electricity for the whole damn province," Landry added. He glanced at Deacon. "British and Canadian troops have been mostly successful in holding that area. They use a series of outposts the Soviets built during their occupation in Afghanistan."

"But the Taliban have never given up on taking it under their control." Pauley had to throw in his two cents. "Every now and then they get squirrely and make one hell of a push for it. It would be a propaganda dream come true if they could claim some kind of stronghold there, better even than claiming they shot down one of our birds."

"Boys, drop the damn history lesson." Jack waved a hand at his teammates, keeping his eyes on Hammond. "Let The Hammer get back to why we're going to want to jump on this mission."

"The deployed garrison was a unit of EOD's." Hammond took a breath and let it out in a sigh. "The Shepherd was with them."

More cursing went around the table as Pauley and Landry reacted to the news. Jack only shook his head, his ears ringing as if Hammond had just boxed him a good one. He tried to recall exactly the last time he talked with Angus MacGyver.

"That's not possible, Ham. Shepherd's further north." Hope lit on him like a bird. Hammond had been fed bad intel. "Kunduz or Kabul. It couldn't have been more than a couple of weeks since I spoke with him."

"I'm not wrong about this, Jack. I confirmed it myself with MacGyver's C.O." Hammond clasped his hands, letting them dangle over the back of the chair. "Mac volunteered to go to teach some techniques to a British squad that was going to be stationed there on a more permanent basis."

"Well of course he did," Jack growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. It sounded just like MacGyver's M.O. Mac lived to fix things. "Leave it to the kid to volunteer for a mission that takes him into a town that suffers a surprise attack by the enemy."

"Who's The Shepherd?" Deacon interrupted.

"The Shepherd is our favorite EOD specialist," Landry replied, gathering their cards in a signal their fun was over. "He's enlisted Army but we commandeer him when we're close by. Kid is crazy smart, one of the best bomb boys in the business despite being even more 'fresh off the farm' than you, Deacon. We're talking not even legal to drink, but he's who you want clearing the way for any stroll you're going to take out here in the sand, especially in an area like Helmand where the Taliban hide IED's like a giant bunny does eggs on Easter Sunday."

"He's also Little Joe to Jack's Hoss," Pauley added, his mouth twitching slighlty. "Gilligan to his Captain, Robin to his…"

"Shut up, Pauley," Jack growled, cutting off his friend's antiquated references to the relationship he'd formed with MacGyver in the year since he'd been partially responsible for the kid working with their team.

"Basically, Mac's the kid brother Jack always wanted and Papa Hammond delivered up last year like some kind of make-shift stork," Pauley finished in a fake whisper that earned him a glower from both Jack and their commanding officer.

"Shepherd is one of us, Wingnut," Hammond said, using the not so flattering term for a member of the Air Force. "That's all you need to know."

"And we'll undertake any mission necessary to get him back. Even if it takes us straight into the bowels of Helmand." Jack glanced at his team, receiving confirming nods all around.

"My sheep hear my voice, and I know them. They follow me," Deacon said, gravely when Jack's gaze met his. "It's a Bible verse about The Shepherd…"

"I know what it is," Jack continued to hold Deacon's gaze, realizing the younger man was trying to demonstrate his commitment to a task that may get him killed, one he had no true allegiance to considering he'd yet to meet Mac. Landry was right. Deacon couldn't be much older than Mac, who was in Jack's opinion far too young to be involved in a mess like Helmand. "No one would blame you if you want to step off this ride before it gets cranking."

"I have no problem being a sheep to slaughter if the shepherd's worthy." He gave Jack a grin that spoke more to a wolf than any docile, grazing creature ready for reaping. "Besides, who do you think's going to drop you all in there and work exfil when you need pulled out?"

"While I appreciate your enthusiasm boys, this isn't exactly our typical run."

Jack grunted, sending a knowing look to Hammond. "When are any of our runs typical?"

"Jack and I need to have a little talk." Hammond waved a hand. "Get your gear ready. We needed to head out ten minutes ago."

Jack's team vacated the table like they were bugging a camp that was about to be overtaken by enemy mortar. Jack sensed the danger just as his teammates had but this was Mac, and Jack had no choice but to stand his ground.

"Don't tell me this is a recovery, Hammond," he growled once the others were out of earshot. The fear that had begun to wind tight now let loose like a scatter shot, lodging into all of Jack's defenses with piercing accuracy. He could not lose the kid, not now. Mac was too important, and not just to Jack. Angus MacGyver had yet to do all the amazing things Jack was convinced he was capable. "I won't accept that."

"If I thought that was all this was I wouldn't have tagged you for the job, Jack." Hammond's dark eyes and stony countenance softened just a fraction. "Not to bring Shepherd's body back. Other men could have done that, but I happen to believe if anyone can pull him out of this alive it's our team."

"I promised him I'd watch his back." It was a vow Jack had made on Mac's first mission with The Unit. It was supposed to be a onetime deal, but as time unfurled and one mission became another and then ten Jack found himself holding to the words like some kind of covenant.

"You don't think I know that. I was the one who set that stage." Hammond looked almost remorseful. Jack started to open his mouth, to negate any reason Hammond had for feeling bad about putting that particular ball in motion despite the ruckus Jack had caused about being handed such a duty at the time, but the Major continued on." I also know you're going to want to run in guns blazing and cut down anyone that may be in your path to getting Shepherd back but this is what my momma, bless her dear departed soul, used to call a sticky wicket."

Despite the seriousness of the situation Jack's mouth twitched. "You had a momma?"

"What do you think, Dalton?"

"I thought you either sprang from the Roman god of war's head or the military cooked you up in some lab in Area 51."

"Listen to me, Jack. That dam can't fall into enemy hands. Our priority is to save MacGyver and his guys but I'm going to have to piggy back another team with yours for scouting." Hammond shifted in his seat, a sign he wasn't happy about the situation. "As soon as they know the lay of the land we have to report back for air support. When that intel is relayed, the British and the marines are going to want to hit them hard and fast and drive the Taliban out, if not completely obliterate them, even if there are friendlies in the area. They're going into that town to take it back, and their push may just drive the Taliban to overrun Mac's position. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"You're telling me that Mac and his team were never the first objective." Jack narrowed his gaze, used to the double speak that sometimes was fluent in the military. "The marines want intel as to where exactly the Taliban are and what their holding."

"Mac is _my_ priority objective." Hammond's dark countenance confirmed what Jack knew to be true. Hammond was a good soldier, but what made him a great leader was that he knew how to walk the very fine line of insubordination and the code of honor he'd sworn to his brothers in arms.

"So if we're not in and out with Mac before the marines start bringing the heavy then we might as well be with the Taliban."

"There is no might, Jack. Mac's team is supposedly pinned down in the Baghran District with a small garrison of Afghan National Police at what used to be their old police station. At last report they and the ANP's were taking RPG's and 107's, trying to hold their own until someone gets them out of there."

"Then what the hell are we waiting for?" Jack looked at Hammond, already forming the first of many desperate prayers he would send silently out to the universe in their short flight to Helmand. Please don't let us be too late. Please watch over him until I get there. Please. Please. Please. "Let's go get our boy back."

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Casting Mountains to the Sea

By: Ridley

A/N: This chapter was so much a team effort. The magnificent, aficionado of all things G.I. Jack, Gib offered so many great military insights and my dear Beta, Mary worked tirelessly to make sure I had the boys in character even though they are in an extreme situation. She is the guru of what I like to call tasteful hurt/comfort. Thanks you guys. Thank you also to those of you who reviewed the first chapter. The enthusiastic reception and kind praise has been both humbling and encouraging. I hope this extra long chapter shows just a tiny bit of my appreciation. Enjoy!Then let me know what you think!

RcJ

Jack kept up his litany of prayers right through their night jump over Barikju, and into their hike to the shelled out outskirts of the village where they met up with a British garrison and a small unit of marines on the northern side of town. The soldiers reported they had maintained sat phone contact with Mac's unit until the latest round of heavy fire from the Taliban which had only been an hour before Jack's team had arrived.

"Still nothing." Pauley who had been trying to reach Mac's SAT phone as well told Jack with a scowl. "Either Shepherd's phone was destroyed in that last barrage or…"

"We need to go in," Jack cut him off gruffly, unwilling to let the worst case scenario be spoken out loud.

"That's easier said than done." One of the British soldiers tapped a grid map he had placed on a make-shift table. "This town is laid out like a maze built upon a maze. Not only do we have the insurgents to our west to contend with, we also have the locals willing to pick us off from any vantage point they can find, of which there are many. The dark will provide some cover, but we have not had any success in reaching the police station which is unfortunately in the center of town."

One of his teammates picked up. "The main road is known to be strewn with IEDs. We clear the bloody street one day and the Taliban replant more explosives overnight. It's treacherous travel in the bright of day, let alone now."

"There could be another way," Landry spoke before Jack could. He took another map, one he'd created himself before they'd left base and spread it next to that of their allies.

"What have you got, Columbus?" Jack studied the plans over his teammates's shoulder. He firmly believed Landry could find anything and anyone. Not only was he obsessed with orienteering, he'd been a prized cartographer, even hand drawing his own maps for his work in the private sector where he made mad cash analyzing aerial photographs and statistics. That was until 9-11 when he'd lost a brother in the terrorist attacks. Like many Americans, Landry's life had been turned upside down, irreparably altered when the dust settled. He found himself creating offensive strategic maps and charting unexplored territory in a foreign land for the Army Rangers.

"After Hammond gave us the location, I pulled a dozen plus maps of this area from satellite images, and some from thermal and passive seismic ground penetrating radar. I think there's a good possibility that an underground system may lead to that police station Mac's unit is holed up in." He pointed to a colored area on his sketch. "It was originally nothing more than an old jail for the surrounding areas worst criminals, even some high-valued war prisoners."

"Are you saying the Afghans used some kind of subterranean cavern to get prisoners in and out of there without having to worry about being ambushed?" Pauley asked, narrowing his gaze to study the map with his teammates. He glanced at Jack, who only shrugged in response. Jack could read a topographic grid map with the best of them, but the squiggles and symbols Columbus came up with was way over his pay grade.

"Cavern is probably being overly optimistic. This isn't like the shafts used for strategic fighting, or underground combat, at least I don't think so. They may be more like those snake tunnels we found in Pakistan." Landry scratched his head. "Remember the ones where we had to crawl meters flat on our bellies."

"Awesome." Jack rubbed a hand over his face. Afghanistan was one of the most mountainous countries in the world, but it had a legacy of natural caves, as well as secret bunkers and ancient hollowed forts and compounds that had served its people well. They were natural tunnelers, which gave credence to Landry's proposal.

"With the shelling this region has taken, an abandoned tunnel might have collapsed a long time ago," Pauley pointed out unhelpfully.

"True, but I think it may be our best shot. If what I'm thinking is right, the shaft should lead us straight into the police station, straight to Shepherd."

"Columbus, you and I will go." Jack left no room open for suggestions. It was the obvious choice. Landry was not only like a one man LoJack he was also trained for mountain search and rescue from his old civilian days, which meant he had more medical knowledge than Jack. It would also leave Pauley behind to work his own particular set of skills. "Loman, you do your thang and see if you can find us any friendlies in the area to help us maneuver the streets in case Columbus's secret passage doesn't work out."

"Sure." Pauley rolled his eyes. "Leave it to me to make nice with the IED wielding locals and promote good PR with the patrons who'd rather greet me with a gun or a grenade than a handshake why don't, you."

"God gave you those looks and charm for a reason, Dude." Jack grinned. They had pegged Pauley early on as the conman of their group. He could sell anything and get anything from wherever they were, like Face from the A-team, if Face had been a six foot five black man with a linguistics degree. "It sure hasn't helped you any with the ladies."

Pauley raised his middle finger prominently at Jack. "Tell Shepherd he owes me a fucking beer or three when this mission is over."

"I think you still owe the kid a couple from disarming that pressure mine you stepped on back in Kabul. Don't you agree, Tombstone?" Landry snorted. "Shepherd didn't even make fun of him when he pissed his pants."

Pauley doubled his hand gesture and shifted it to include Landry. "Don't you sonsofbitches have a hole to crawl into?"

Jack turned to the two British soldiers watching the interplay with some curiosity. "We have our SAT phone, but you keep trying to reach MacGyver's team. We'll let you know if we make it to the station or we'll be back around to work another strategy."

Jack hoped to hell they didn't need another strategy. Again, he didn't wait for an affirmative before sliding his night goggles on and following Landry and his hand drawn maps out of the makeshift compound. They could hear the shelling growing louder as they made their way around the perimeter of the town to where Landry believed they'd find the mouth of the tunnel.

Usually large mounds of earth were markers for an opening to one of the Afghanistan underground passageways, but Landry believed they'd find this one in the more covert guises of an abandoned municipal building he'd marked. Most private dwellings in the area were made from baked mud, but the more important structures were built from baked brick and mortar. Jack sent up a quick, silent thank you as Landry gave him the thumbs up when they'd apparently located the X on his treasure map.

After an initial sweep of the long-abandoned structure for squatters and active booby traps, Landry set about searching for a concealed entrance to the passageway. Jack was always surprised by the man's innate ability to uncover covert pathways. Despite everything a small grin twitched around Jack's mouth. He thought they should maybe have given his teammate the nickname Indiana Jones instead of Christopher Columbus.

"I think I might have something." Landry slid his gun around to his back, freeing his hands. He nodded to Jack. "Give me a little help here, Tombstone."

Jack backed his way to the far side of the room where Landry was studying a massive bookshelf. Jack looked at the other operative, then glanced once more to the doorway. "Seriously, man?"

"The floor is cement. Not exactly conducive to a trap door." Landry panned his flashlight around every corner and crevice, looking for any signs of trip wires. If this was truly their hidden entrance it would be a perfect spot for an unpleasant surprise. "This has to be it, and it's clear as far as I can tell."

"Isn't there just a freaky old statue we can overturn, or a carving we can push?" Jack grunted as he put his shoulder into sliding the solid wooden structure a few feet.

"In my dreams maybe," Landry replied as they accomplished moving the shelves far enough away from the wall that he could slide behind it.

"My dreams usually contain a table of barbecue and the fixings from the best mom and pop place in my home town called the Smokin' Pig and a harem of super models to feed me." Jack said, returning his attention to covering the door. Thoughts of home brought a familiar sense of melancholy which Jack quickly shoved away, along with his gnawing worry for Mac. He had to stay completely focused on the mission.

"And people say you're shallow with a one track mind." Landry popped back into view.

"What people?" Jack demanded.

"Only those who know you best." Landry flashed a quick grin, jutting his head towards the wall. He pointed his flashlight so Jack could get a look at the two foot opening that had been revealed. "Ready to go down the rabbit hole, Alice?"

"If it leads us to Mac, I'll even attend the Mad Hatter's tea party." Jack turned the flashlight on his rifle on, scanning the small entrance. It was covered in cobwebs. Not a nice sight for the squeamish at heart, but a good indication the passageway hadn't been used in a while. He was also thankful that the path was large enough that they didn't have to crawl, but it still required that they stoop and duck-walk to keep from hitting their heads as they entered. "Let's lose the night vision and stick with flashlights. This place looks as stark as a strip club on Sunday morning. Stay sharp just in case we come across any unwanted traffic."

"On the rare chance that there are some lingering patrons, how about you try not to shoot any mice this time, Tombstone." Landry shot a smirk over his shoulder as he clipped his goggles onto his pack. "We wouldn't want to alert them that there are predators afoot."

"That was once," Jack grumbled as he started off after the other operator. "And mouse my ass. It was a huge honking rat, more like an armadillo with fur."

"Don't think we don't know why you always like to bring up the rear anytime we're underground?" Landry continued to tease.

"How about we maintain silence until you actually have something relevant to report, Sergeant." Jack realized his teammate was trying to distract him from what they might find at the end of the tunnel, which could very well be one of Jack's recently recurring nightmares, but the fact Landry thought the ribbing was called for only added to Jack's worry.

Landry laughed at the order but did as Jack commanded and kept quiet. They'd been moving for what seemed like hours, which Jack knew in reality hadn't been more than maybe twenty to thirty minutes tops, when Landry finally spoke.

"Well this is a surprise." He held up a hand for Jack to hold. "I think we actually do have some kind of cavern coming up just ahead."

"Is it the opening to the jail?" Jack moved closer to Landry, rolling his tensed shoulders.

"I don't think we've gone far enough for that." Landry held his flashlight in front of him, jumping down a few feet into the open area. Jack followed and they performed a quick sweep of the room before Landry pulled a VisiPad from his pack. He stuck the mobile light to one of the walls, activating it so the interior glowed an eerie orange. "I'm guessing they might have used this as some sort of holding room. Maybe even for interrogation."

Jack took a look at the overturned chairs. There were the remains of what might have been a cot, telling stains still visible on the thin mattress, a broken chain and one metal wrist cuff dangling from a rail. "What do you say we keep moving?"

"My thoughts exactly." Landry started forward when a rumble shook the ground beneath them, sending a small scattering of debris from above. "The shelling is only going to get stronger as we move into the city."

Jack sent a skeptical glance upward. "Let's just hope Mac and his team have been lucky in avoiding the worst of it."

"Shepherd's as smart as they come." Landry grunted as he climbed up and into the opposite tunnel on the far side of the small dug out space. "I know we tease him about being green, but he's been here long enough to know the lay of the land better than most."

"Is that your way of telling me I shouldn't worry so much?" Jack used both hands to hoist himself up on the lip of the crevice. He gripped his gun again, using his free hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The Afghanistan heat was still relentless even underground. "Because you know us single-minded, shallow fellas don't spend a lot of time worrying."

Landry snorted. "There's an ongoing pool on when you will finally talk Hammond into officially bringing Mac into Delta so you can keep an eye on him full time."

"That's not really The Hammer's decision to make." The tunnel had at least opened up to a much wider path now that they were on the other side of the room. They could almost stand their full height and weren't forced to walk single file any longer. "Higher ups have to have a hand in that."

"So you _have_ asked?" Landry had picked up the pace a bit with the easier terrain.

"No," Jack snapped, increasing his speed as well. It wasn't like he hadn't given the idea some consideration, especially after he'd gotten to know Mac. The kid was brilliant and was damn good at what he did, but if Jack was honest, it wasn't his skills as an EOD specialist that prompted Jack's rationalization for bringing him into The Unit. "It's not like the kid would accept anyway. There's a little too much gray in what we do I'm afraid. MacGyver would rather fix problems than takeout the people causing said problems."

Landry slowed and shot Jack a curious look over his shoulder. "Mac doesn't judge your position on the team. He might not like your particular skillset but he respects it. You know that, right?"

"You and Mac been having heart to hearts, have you?" Jack nudged his teammate's shoulder to get him moving faster, not really keen on analyzing what the kid thought of him. It had caught Jack off guard the first time MacGyver laid out his rationale for not using a gun. At first, he'd thought it was some kind of joke. Who came to the war and didn't use a freaking gun? As it turned out, Mac, at heart, was a damn pacifist. Jack, on the other hand not only respected guns for what they could do, but relied on one to make a living. "Because last time I checked, Shepherd doesn't exactly wax heavy on the deep conversations."

"We talk geography. He's likes my theory about the underground city I think could lie under Kabul." Landry started moving again. "He's a spelunker you know."

"What?" Jack swore as another round of shelling sent more of the tunnel raining over them. Landry had been right about their increased proximity to the battle.

"He likes cave exploration," Landry explained. "His father used to take him."

"You don't say." Jack winced at the mention of Mac's father. It was a subject they'd discussed briefly a few times, enough for Jack to know the man had walked out on Mac when he was just a kid. They sure as hell hadn't discussed any warm family memories.

They moved in silence for another seemingly endless stretch of time, the shelling going on above ground indeed becoming more pronounced as they continued.

"I think we're starting to move up hill," Landry spoke, slowing to check his map. He shone his flashlight on the paper. "We have to be close."

"We've come about seven clicks now." Jack stopped, leaning his back against one side of the tunnel so that he could wipe the sweat dripping in his eyes. "Does that line up with what you marked out?"

"Just about." Landry wrestled his water free from his pack and took a long drink. "We have no way of letting Mac know we're nearby. SAT phones are useless at this depth. We sure as hell don't want to be shot by Afghan friendlies."

"We'll find a way to let him know when we make it to that point." Jack smirked at Landry. "Knowing our luck we'll have another three hundred pound book shelf to move before we can get out of here."

They hadn't gone much further when Landry once more drew up short. "Do you smell smoke?"

"I do." Jack gave a slight cough. There was another odor as well. One that was distinctive and unforgettable. Jack had been in too many strike zones not to recognize it. Even a close hit could cause a fire cyclone, literal raging infernos that could incinerate everything burnable including the people unfortunate enough to be caught in its path.

"We shouldn't be getting this unless the passageway to up top is already open and we're receiving air from outside where the fighting is heavy." Landry glanced to Jack, seeming to read the trepidation in his worried frown. "It's possible Mac remembered the conversations about the tunnels. If things got too hot out there, he might have tried to find it."

Jack didn't give Landry any more time to pose possible more optimistic theories. "Let's move."

Not waiting for Landry to comply, Jack slid past the other man to take point. He moved quickly but with caution, relieved when the tunnel suddenly opened into another cavern, almost identical to the holding room they'd been surprised by earlier.

Jack's reprieve was short-lived as the smoke and dust grew thicker and the VisiPad Landry withdrew and placed on one of the walls illuminated the reality of their situation. Unlike the previous ca-vern this one had a huge pile of brick and rubble nearly filling the small squared space. It was as if the floor, or ceiling as the case was, had given way sending the room above and everything in it tumbling down. Jack recognized metal bars, and sun-baked brick, as well as the very top of a book shelf, the kind he'd joked about being a hindrance only minutes before. The giant dark hole directly above seemed to be the source of the smoke which was filtering in from the battle going on outside.

"Oh shit." Landry stopped beside Jack. They stood shoulder to shoulder, surveying the carnage around them. "The station must have taken a direct hit. Or several by the looks of it."

Jack knew it would explain why the marines lost contact with Mac's team and the ANP's, but he would not bring himself to even entertain the idea that all hope was lost.

"It's only been a few hours since Mac last reported." Jack moved forward, shoulders set with determination as he intended to start the arduous process of digging their way through the rubble. It would not end this way, not in some burned out, gutted village in Helmand. Landry reached out and gripped Jack's arm before he could begin.

"Tombstone."

Jack jerked away, Landry's tone, more than his hold halting the senior operator mid-stride. Jack let his gaze go to the spot Landry's other hand was pointing. At first his mind didn't want to connect the dots, refusing to comprehend what his vision was communicating to sensitive receptors in the brain that were trained to translate images into meaning. There was a boot sticking out of the rubble. A standard military grade boot, attached to a camo-clad leg that disappeared beneath the mixture of earth and rubble. What had been nothing more than a surmountable obstacle to where Jack wanted to go was now more tantamount to some macabre sculpture or worse, quite possibly a makeshift grave.

"Move," Jack ordered. Both he and Landry slung their weapons to their backs, freeing their hands to begin digging through the mess. The Deacon's quote of scripture about The Shepherd he'd voiced back at base filled Jack's mind as he tossed rubble and bricks away in a haphazard manner that probably should have been better thought out. As it was, men were buried and getting them free before they smothered or were crushed further when the rest of the room above gave way was Jack's first priority. He called out Mac's name, hoping to hell the kid heard him.

They uncovered the first man fairly quickly, the unfortunate one belonging to the boot. It wasn't Mac. Thank God. Half the man's skull was crushed.

"He's gone." Landry said, needlessly as he and Jack moved the soldier into the one free corner of the room. Landry ran a hand over the man's eyes, closing them. He met Jack's gaze, wiping the blood from his palms onto his pants, a mutual understanding passed between them.

"Keep going." Jack was sorry the man was dead, sorry he was probably a friend of Mac's, a colleague and brother in arms at the least, but his mission was to find Mac and nothing was going to stop him from fulfilling that objective.

"My money is on Mac finding a way down here when the shelling got too heavy to wait out reinforcements." Landry talked as he worked. It was his way of processing. Ironically, Jack, who typically filled each breath with speech, remained silent. "Only to have a direct strike send the whole damn place down on top of them."

Jack kept working, refusing to believe Mac's fate might be the same as the other man from his unit. Jack called out to Mac again. He and Landry had just pulled another dead soldier from the rubble and placed him near his downed comrade when Jack was almost positive he heard his name.

"I'll be damned," Landry swore, his gaze roaming over the remains of the room.

"You heard that, too?" Jack sought out his teammate's face, looking for confirmation he wasn't merely imagining Mac's voice.

"You bet I did," Landry replied. They started back to the rubble, both yelling for Mac with renewed vigor.

Jack held up his hand when he heard his name again.

"The bookshelf," Landry pointed to the wooden piece that was jutting from the top of the pile, wedged against the far end of the dirt wall.

Jack knelt as close to it as he could. "Mac? Can you hear me?"

"Jack?" The reply was muffled and weak, but sweet music to Jack's ears. He glanced at Landry. "See if you can find something to use as a lever. Maybe one of the jail bars. We're going to need help getting this thing off him."

Sliding the similar solid wood behemoth over a cement floor was one thing, lifting its twin straight up, another. But even straining under its weight, Jack had never been more thankful for the bulk and hearty construction as it seemed to have protected Mac from a much worse fate. It took more time than Jack would have liked but he and Landry managed to get the piece moved, flipping it over to find Mac in far better shape than his buddies.

"Damn, Kid." Jack tossed aside the layer of bricks that had pummeled Mac before the bookshelf had strategically fallen across him to give the EOD some blessed shelter. He was never so happy to see someone's face, even if it was dirty and partially covered in blood. Mac's eyes were closed. "Talk to me, Mac."

"His pulse is fast and thready, but strong." Landry already had his fingers pressed against the side of Mac's neck, his other hand tracing the blood trail through Mac's hair. "Looks like a pretty good gash to the head. I don't see bone, and the bleeding has slowed."

Jack appreciated Landry's amateur medic status, but he wanted Mac out of the rubble and into a safer area, especially since the shelling had picked up once more and debris continued to shower them. At this point they were all in serious jeopardy.

"Do you think it's safe to move him?" Jack realized even as he asked that 'not moving' wasn't going to be an option for much longer when a heavy explosion shook the entire room. It sent him scrambling to cover as much of Mac as possible when larger chunks of the floor above fell, an ominous groan filling the small space as if the entire foundation might give way at any second.

"Sonofa…" Landry grunted from his own hunkered position, hands covering his head. "In my professional opinion, we don't have much of a choice, Captain."

Jack moved from across Mac, letting a hand rest against the kid's face. Mac's skin was cool and clammy despite the heat in the room. "Come on, Kid. You want to weigh in on Columbus's evaluation?"

To Jack's surprise Mac opened his eyes. "Jack?"

Jack's laugh sounded a little too much like a sob. "Dude, it's about damn time."

"Mac, do you think anything's broken?" Landry tried for a quick assessment.

Mac blinked, obviously not with it. He continued to look at Jack. "How'd you get here?"

"Long story, Kiddo." Jack glanced at Landry and then refocused on Mac. "We need to know how bad you're hurt before we pull you out of here."

"My head," Mac slurred, coughing. His face contorted with pain and he tried lifting his hand.

Jack caught it, gripping it tight in his own. "Anything else, bud."

"Left side and chest." Mac grimaced as if merely mentally cataloging his injuries were painful. "It's bad."

"Broken ribs." Landry tilted his head, studying Mac's flak jacket. He gave Jack a look that said there could be something more, but didn't voice as much. "I'm guessing the bottom half of the shelf did a number when it landed on him. I'll check him out better when we're somewhere clear."

Jack nodded, already dreading whatever had been left unsaid. "Mac, how many men were down here with you?"

Mac's eyes closed for a moment. When he forced them open again, Jack was glad to see a bit more clarity although it was quickly joined with a flash of panic. "Two. Candler and Stills. They were here, Jack. Just a minute ago…"

"Hey, take it easy." Jack moved his hand to Mac's shoulder as the kid tried to push himself up. He didn't want to explain to his friend that 'just a minute ago' was probably more like two hours if their estimated time line was correct. "Let me and Landry do the work."

"They were here." Mac said again, his agitation growing as the weak struggle to move gave way under Jack's slight resistance. He gripped Jack's hand. "They were…"

"What about the others, Shepherd?" Landry interrupted. "The ANP's?"

"The Afghans…" Mac took a hitched breath, the act looking far too difficult for Jack's liking. "The police officers, they were killed by an earlier blast. We found this tunnel after...the three of us …just made it down when another direct strike hit. You have to get Stills and Candler."

"We already located them, Mac." Jack didn't look at Mac as he nodded to Landry who bent to slip one hand behind Mac's head. Now they had all the Intel they required to clear out. There were no other survivors to account for. "Columbus and I just need to get you out of here, before this whole damn place falls in like a frigging house of cards."

Mac cried out as the two Deltas pulled him from the wreckage and got him on his feet. Jack clenched his teeth against the sound, staggering slightly when Landry shifted Mac so Jack could take the bulk of the kid's weight as he crawled across the wreckage and over to the fallen men.

"Easy, brother. I've got you." Jack kept Mac tucked against him, turned away from the bodies of his two downed teammates as he moved them towards the tunnel. He trusted Landry to follow protocol and take care of the lost soldiers, tagging their dog tags, doing whatever else he could to ensure the men would be found by a recovery team once the area was secured. Jack hated to leave any man behind, even those who were beyond helping, but the awful reality was that Mac was the only one who would benefit from being carried out of the tunnels with any urgency and further risk to their lives.

Jack let Landry help him get Mac up into the tunnel and then let the sergeant set the pace, taking point to guide them back out. Mac was in bad shape, struggling to put one foot in front of the other, even with Jack holding him up and taking most of his weight. His breath was short and shallow, hitching with every step, his head hanging low, and chin almost touching his chest. They had been moving maybe twenty minutes when Mac suddenly tensed, going completely rigid.

"Jack, stop."

The demand was weak, but pleading. Jack did as the kid said, just in time for Mac to pull away. Jack nearly lost his hold as the EOD doubled over and was violently sick.

"Damn." Jack kept a hold of the kid, glancing up ahead of them where he could see the glow of his teammate's flashlight. "Landry, hold up."

Landry made it back to them just as Jack was easing a shaky Mac away from the mess. He moved to help but Jack shook his head, pulling one miserable looking Mac back close to his side. "I got him, but he's not going to make it much farther like this."

"That first holding room we came across is close," Landry said. "It's far enough away from the heavier shelling that you two should be safe until I can reach the top to use the SAT phone to relay our position for reinforcements and a proper medic."

Jack didn't like the idea of splitting up, but he would never leave Mac alone and the fact was the kid wasn't going to be able to walk out of there let alone crawl through the space they'd had to maneuver at the beginning of the tunnel. Rigging some crude litter for transport could cause Mac more damage. Jack had no choice but to concede.

Thankfully, Landry was right about the cavern being close. Mac was sick again on the way, Jack was practically carrying his friend before they made it to the opening. He had to hand the kid off to Landry as he climbed out of the passageway, Mac rousing some with the change.

"Jack?"

"I'm here, bud." Jack reclaimed one of Mac's arms, letting Landry help maneuver their friend across the holding area.

"Let's put him here, Jack, so I can check him over before I head up top." Landry motioned to the old cot, hooking his boot around the bottom of the frame and dragging it from against the wall.

Jack subconsciously tightened his hold on Mac, momentarily reluctant to ease the kid onto the gore covered padding as if the fate of who had been there before might somehow mark the young EOD.

"It's better than the dirt floor, Captain." Landry seemed to understand his hesitation.

"Yeah." When Jack finally nodded, they lowered Mac to sitting on the cot.

"Mac, I'm going to get this vest off of you first so I can check your ribs." Landry didn't wait for Mac to answer, though the kid jerked, blinking owlishly when the other soldier knelt beside him as if he had just become aware of his presence.

"It's okay, bud." Jack moved to the other side of the cot, putting a steadying hand on the kid's shoulder, offering both stability and what Jack hoped was a safety line in a world that at the moment was turned completely upside down.

"Let's ease him back," Landry said once Mac was free of the armor.

Jack was gentle, but Mac still hissed in pain, swearing under his breath. "Watch the language, dude."

Mac shot him an incredulous glare that had Jack feeling somewhat better since there was at least some clarity in the blue gaze. He winked at the kid. "No need to sully your Boy Scout image over a few busted rips and a concussion. You're tougher than that."

"Tombstone, you're one to talk," Landry chattered as he lifted the bottom of Mac's t-shirt, shooting Jack an anxious glance over the body of their friend as a stunning array of red and blue bruising was revealed.

"I once had to put some crude field stitches in Jack's giant head. He said things that would make The Hammer blush." Landry flashed Mac a knowing grin. "I can't believe he kisses his momma with that mouth. How about you, Shep?"

"I'm pretty sure…" Mac's voice caught as Landry began palpating up his side. He squeezed his eyes shut but pushed on, "Jack was raised by wolves."

"Maybe hyenas," Landry laughed.

"Hey now." Jack slid his rifle behind him, letting it hang at his back before taking a knee beside the cot, He watched as Landry's face grew grimmer as his examination continued. "Just where do you think all those homemade cookies and other goodies we've shared came from?"

"California." Mac opened his eyes, locking gazes with Jack. His breath hitched and Jack set his jaw to keep from his own bit of cursing. " _I_ shared those with you."

"That's right." Jack smirked, glad the kid was with them enough to let him have it. "Your good buddy Bozer is one hell of a cook. I still dream about that Pastrami he made at Christmas, and I'm not completely convinced everything he put in that French toast was legal."

The mention of Bozer had Mac's face darkening, a veil of confusion returning once more. "Where's Stills and Candler?"

"Jack hasn't received a care package from home since I've known him," Landry picked up smoothly.

"Don't you start," Jack sniped back, reaching out casually and gripping Mac's hand as Landry moved onto the colorful splash of color on the kid's chest and Mac let out a yelp, his breathing picking up to almost a pant.

"You've definitely got some busted ribs, Shep. I need you to slow your breath as much as possible." Landry pushed Mac's shirt higher. "How's your shoulder feel?"

"It hurts," Mac admitted, his hold tightening on Jack as he tried to do what Landry said and control his breathing.

"I bet it does," Landry said, glancing again to Jack before offering the EOD a knowing grin. "I'm guessing you are a hell of a lot more broken up than Jack's family was when he left them for a soldier's life. Being rid of such a pain in the ass must have been a huge relief, which explains why he has to mooch off of you and beg invites for holidays."

"Hah! Like you're as sweet as a spring day, Landry." Jack tried to remember all the organs located on the left side of the body and what might account for the worried frowns that Landry kept shooting him. "Mac, you should see how Columbus and Loman have our newest righteous recruit sending up prayers for them left and right. I'm pretty sure he's guessed what we all have known for a long time- that if those two don't change their wicked ways they're headed, as my sweet Nana Beth would say, straight to Hell in a handbasket."

"Mac, tell me if this hurts." Landry moved his hands to the left of Mac's abdomen and pressed.

The kid cried out and Jack was torn between trying to hold Mac down and the strong desire to punch Landry in the face. Luckily for Landry, Mac made the choice easy, rolling towards Jack and away from the pain, his other hand coming to fist atop the one the one Jack was already gripping.

"Easy." Jack resorted to glaring at his teammate, settling his free hand on Mac's head, brushing his fingers through the kid's hair. "Just breathe through it, brother."

"I'm guessing that would be a definite yes." Landry kept his voice light, letting Mac stay where he was. For that Jack owed him more than a beer. He'd dig up a bottle of the fancy wine Columbus preferred, vino snob that he was. "I'll just check that nasty head wound while we're here, and let Tombstone get back to telling you about the plight of The Unit's newest operator."

"Yeah, The Deacon," Jack nodded, moving his hand so Landry could work. He swallowed the bitter bile that had risen up the back of his throat, managing to free the thumb on his trapped hand. Jack ran it along the inside of Mac's wrist where he could feel the kid's runaway pulse thudding like horse hooves. "You should see the alter boy's face when Pauley really lets loose with the four-letter words using not only English, but all five of his fancy languages."

"The poor kid turns as red as his hair," Landry added, wincing in sympathy as he seemed to find what he was looking for. "Since you haven't met him, Shep, let me just say, Opie Taylor has nothing on this guy. He even has the freckles."

"That's what Hammer wanted to tag him by the way. Opie." Jack continued the chit chat as Mac's tight grip on his hand lessened slightly. He hoped the fear he was feeling didn't come across in his tone as Landry tore open a pack of antiseptic wipes he'd pulled from his first aid kid. "The Major just couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Davy boy, in all his twenty five years on the planet, probably didn't even know who Andy Griffith was, let along Ron Howard."

"The famous director?" Mac was looking at Jack when he returned his gaze to the injured EOD.

"Exactly." Jack schooled his features, faking exasperation at Mac's lack of pop culture knowledge. "He was an actor long before he went behind the camera. Richie Cunningham ring a bell?"

"No." Mac coughed weakly.

"Kid's today," Landry said, tossing the now bloodied cloth to the floor. "Good thing your heads don't go soft from all the video game playing." Sitting back on his heels, he added. "I think all your massive brain will stay inside your skull this go around, Shep, even without my stitching skills."

Mac slowly released his grip on Jack, carefully uncurling his body as he rolled over to give Landry a slightly perplexed look. "I don't play video games, Columbus."

"Well of course you don't, Mac." Landry patted the kid's shoulder, giving a sly grin. "Too many bikini clad girls out in sunny LA. A guy with your Hollywood looks would be stupid to spend his time inside with a bunch of on-line geeks."

"Kid's got no game in that playing field either, I'm afraid," Jack teased, laughing when Mac raised the middle finger on the hand closest to him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Landry getting to his feet.

"I think I've done tortured The Shepherd all I can, at least with my field IFAK. I'm going to head out and contact our reinforcements. See if we can get a real doctor down here."

"Did the rest of the team take Stills and Candler?" Mac asked, a confused frown marring his blood-streaked face once more. "Are they with Pauley?"

Landry looked to Jack, jutting his chin towards the entranceway. "Walk me out, Cap?"

Jack stood, pulling his M9. He placed it next to Mac. "Shoot anything that might come through the other side of that tunnel. Got it?"

"But…"

"No buts. I'll just be a few steps away, but I'd rather be safe than sorry." Jack knew how the kid felt about guns, but this wasn't a situation in which Mac could 'MacGyver' some other way to take care of himself if the enemy somehow found their way into the passage. He waited for the kid to meet his gaze and give an affirmative nod before following Landry over to the tunnel.

"How bad?" Jack asked in a low voice as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Bad." Landry pulled his flashlight from his pack, sliding his HK416 rifle around in front of him.

"I've seen him hurt, but never like this." Jack glanced over his shoulder to keep an eye on Mac, afraid the kid might actually try and get up. "How bad is the concussion to have him so out of sorts?"

"You know I only play a doctor on TV, but my guess is the blow to the head is the least of the kid's problems." Landry turned and hefted himself up into the tunnel. Once in, he turned and took a knee. His countenance was foreboding. "He has some broken ribs, bruised sternum, and you're not going to like this part, but more than likely a splenic rupture."

"Damn it." Jack ran both hands through his hair. He'd been hoping his own suspicions were wrong. A ruptured spleen meant internal bleeding and internal bleeding meant they needed to get Mac to base and in the hands of a competent surgeon.

"He suffered massive blunt force trauma to his torso. The abdomen tenderness and left shoulder pain are text book signs." Landry checked his SAT phone once more. "That confusion you're so worried about is also a symptom of a ruptured spleen. Mac's not exactly 'being Mac' can't all be blamed on the concussion. Then there's the hemorrhagic shock he's already experiencing. That's going to be our biggest obstacle at this point."

"What should I do?" Jack gripped the lip of the tunnel with his hands, letting his chin rest on his chest for a moment as he digested Landry's entirely too long list of maladies.

"Keep him awake, and as still as possible." Landry turned on his flashlight, clasping Jack on the shoulder and giving a brief squeeze. "You know the routine, brother. Treat for shock and do what you're good at-talk. If we're lucky it could be a small laceration and the internal bleeding isn't as progressed as I think. After all, what the hell do I know? I draw maps and shoot bad guys for a living."

"You've still got me beat. That's for damn sure." Jack lifted his gaze, hating what he was about to offer. "Maybe I should go and you stay here with the kid."

"Trust me when I say you're the best person for Mac right now." Landry jutted his chin in the direction of the patient. "His pain's going to get a lot worse, and we can't give him anything, including water, until a real Band-Aid looks him over. He's also going to keep asking about his friends until you tell him the truth. I'm not the one to do that whole scene. The kid's tough as they come but he's going to need big brother, Jack to get him through it. Don't worry. I'll make it up top in record time, relay everything to base and be back to help ASAP."

Jack nodded, still unsure of the wisdom in him staying, but more than relieved he didn't have to go. "Watch your six, Declan."

"You too, Jack." Landry stood as much as the passageway allowed, starting forward. He stopped quickly, turning to face Jack once more. "You know, there is one more thing you can do."

"Anything." Jack meant it. "Just tell me."

"Pray, my friend." Landry pointed a finger to the roof of the tunnel. "The Deacon's not the only one with a line straight to The Big Guy. No satellite reception required."

"I got it covered." Jack had maintained an open com with God since this whole bloody mess started. He wasn't sure it was doing much good, but he was desperate enough to cling to the slightest hope if it meant Mac would pull through. He gestured for Landry to move. "Now haul ass, soldier. I have some explaining to do."

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Casting Mountains in the Sea

By: Ridley

A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter than most, but it is our first Friday of hiatus (uggg) So, I hope this might bring a little bit of our favorite boys. I chose to do this story before continuing Guard Your Heart for a very specific reason. Casting Mountains, to me is a pivotal moment in the story I want to tell about Jack and Mac. Maybe even this very chapter is the moment things begin to shift for Jack, leading him to do something that will have ramifications in Guard Your Heart. All of that to say (grin) that to those who have written kind requests and inquiries about Guard Your Heart, I promise I have not abandoned it. Thanks again to Mary, who helped tweak this piece into shape. And as always thank you for the reviews!

RcJ

"They're dead, aren't they?" Mac made it easy. Jack didn't have to stumble through a prelude to the nasty truth, the kid tossing the question out as soon as the Delta operator made it back to the cot. "Stills and Candler are gone."

"They didn't survive the blast, brother." Jack didn't even try to avoid the blue gaze as he reclaimed his sidearm and holstered it.

"You lied to me." It wasn't said with much heat, but the accusing hurt that settled on Mac's face was worse than any fury he might have unleashed.

"I skirted the truth, but I didn't lie." Jack took a few things from his pack, before placing it near the bottom of the cot so he could use it to elevate Mac's legs. "I won't ever lie to you. I swear."

"But…" Mac started.

"Listen, now." Jack pulled a thermal blanket from Landry's IFAK, shaking out before spreading it over his friend. "I located your team, just like I said. It was too late for them, but I promise you we'll get them back to base, back home to their families."

"How did I survive?" The question was a loaded one, and it caused Jack to momentarily pause his efforts to do as Landry had said and try to counter the onset of shock."They were right beside me."

Jack took a seat on the cot beside Mac, the metal creaking beneath the added weight. "You got lucky. The king of all bookshelves fell on top of you. It protected you from most of the impact when the floor caved in."

"I don't feel so lucky." Mac brought a hand to his chest. Jack wasn't sure if it was meant to cover a physical pain or the sharp cut of emotion that came with losing a team member, a friend.

"Again, that's because the monster of all bookshelves pummeled you." Jack tried for a smile, which did little to change the look of agony on Mac's face. Jack understood. He knew what it was to survive when others around you fell. Jack only wished he could have spared Mac that particular mix of bewilderment and regret that came with being the only one left standing. He tucked the blanket around the EOD the best he could. "I'm sorry, Kiddo. I wanted to bring you all back."

"I failed them." Mac looked up, his blue eyes brimming with heartache and anguish. Jack would have preferred anger. Instead misery had set in like dark storm clouds in a bright blue sky. "I should have…"

"You didn't fail anyone, brother." Jack suddenly felt every bit the failure. He put a hand on Mac's shoulder to stop the words he knew were coming. He'd said them to himself enough to recognize the good old self-recrimination that was about to take place. "You tried to get them out of there. Knowing you, I have no doubt you did everything in your power to save everyone around you, without much thought for yourself. I hate like hell that they're gone, but I'm more grateful than I can say about you making it out of there in one piece." Jack gave another hopeful half grin. "Well, mostly in one piece."

"I might not make it." Mac was studying the ceiling now. His tone was as wrong as the lack of reaction. MacGyver didn't do defeat. He had an inner strength and resolve that Jack admired almost as much as the EOD's intellect. Jack would not let one really bad day dull the idealism which he both worried over and marveled at.

"Don't say that." Jack gripped Mac's wrist, felt the kid's rapid pulse strumming. Mac's pallor, which was close to matching the gray mattress beneath him unsettled Jack as much as the kid's foreshadowing words. "Let's not go getting all doom and gloom just yet."

"It's true," The look Mac shot the Delta held more clarity than Jack had hoped. A slight bought of delirium Jack could deal with, but this was something different. "I saw Landry's face. Something's wrong. I'm messed up. I can feel it."

"We think your spleen is compromised." Jack ran a hand down his mouth. He hadn't been keen on revealing that piece of information but Mac obviously wasn't the skirt the truths kind of guy and Jack had just vowed to never lie to him. "It could be badly bruised or ruptured, but that's not a death sentence. You hear me? There's plenty of time for surgery. It's not even an organ you need."

Mac licked his dry lips, looking more frightened than Jack had seen him. "But if I'm hemorrhaging blood into my abdominal cavity…"

"Hey." Jack squeezed Mac's wrist again, hoping to cut off the wave of panic he could see cresting. "How about we not over think this, okay. For once let's go with the dumbed down Jack version instead of Einstein's slant on physiology and pathology. Okay?"

"Okay." Mac relented, but Jack could tell by the wariness in the blue gaze that his assurances hadn't made it through. He might as well have been using a feather to hammer away at the impenetrable walls Mac sometimes erected around his mind. The kid closed his eyes, his way of conceding, or more likely, blocking Jack out. "I'm really tired, Jack."

"You have to stay awake, Mac. I can't let you go to sleep with the concussion and the shock." Jack pressed the back of his hand to Mac's forehead. The feel of cool, clammy skin brought the stark reality of their situation once more to the forefront. Jack could deal with the emotional repercussions of what Mac had been through once they were back at base when he had time to stealthily infiltrate the kid's defenses. Right now he needed to focus on Mac's physical situation. The more information he could give the medics, the better. "How about you tell me if you think anything else is broken and let's try brutal honesty instead of that hedging way you have when it comes to injuries. We'll start with the magic melon of yours."

Mac opened his eyes a narrow slit. "I have a really bad headache, but it's nothing I haven't had before."

"I guess it's a good thing that solid gold brain of yours is encased in reinforced titanium." Jack winked. "What about your arms and legs, bud? Does anything feel like it's out of place or worse, about to fall off?"

Mac's mouth twitched ever so slightly. "You would make a terrible combat medic."

"That's why I'm usually the one putting holes in people not putting them back together." Jack grinned. "You're a special case. Ol'Jack doesn't play doctor for just anyone."

"Lucky me..." Mac started, only for his breath to catch. His hands went to his stomach and he let out a loud groan.

"Mac!" Jack gripped his friend's shoulder.

"My side," Mac gasped, eyes clenched tight. "It hurts."

"What can I do?" Jack's hand ghosted over the kid, wanting to help but unsure of exactly how to do that. He cursed himself for letting Landry go and selfishly staying with the kid. MacGyver wasn't the type to admit an injury, let alone confess to being in pain. It struck a nerve with Jack and left him unsteady. Landry had been wrong. Jack was currently completely out of his element.

"Jack." Mac said his name like a plea. It tore at Jack, bringing to mind unwanted images, sharp fragmented memories of times when he'd been in battle and grown men ten or sometimes twenty years Mac's senior had gone down, screaming for God as they writhed from unspeakable injuries, or worse calling out for mothers that were continents away to somehow miraculously save them.

"I'm here." Jack gripped Mac's hand tightly in one of his, taking a knee beside the cot as he let his other hand rest atop Mac's head.

The episode or whatever the hell it was didn't last long, although seeing Mac suffer distorted the time frame in Jack's mind transforming what might have been mere minutes into an eternity. Mac's tensed body relaxed as suddenly as the onslaught had set in, the pain seemingly lessening to a tolerable level. Still, when the EOD finally opened his eyes and looked up at Jack, the blue gaze held far too much torment. Jack had never hated the Taliban more.

"I want to go home." Mac's breathing had sped up again, and Jack tried running his hand through the kid's blood-matted hair to calm him down. "I just want to go back."

"We're going to get you back to base, bud, I promise you." Jack kept his tone calm, though he felt anything but. The sudden and rare desperation in Mac's voice had his own pulse racing, but he had to stay focused to get through to Mac. Broken ribs fared much better with slow controlled breaths. Shock would be made worse by the near panting. "Just take it easy and breathe. Nice and slow."

"No… I want to go _home_." Mac's pupils were so dilated from either pain or the concussion that the blue was barely visible." _My_ home. In California."

"Mac…" Jack knew the kid was completely confused now and hoped to hell that Landry hurried. "You know that's not possible."

"Please." Mac gripped Jack's hand tighter, looking every bit the nineteen year old kid Jack had met the year before.

The anguished request was nearly Jack's undoing. If he had ever doubted just how far the kid had gotten under his skin, the visceral reaction he experienced to Mac's plea was irrefutable proof to Mac's infiltration of all Jack's hard-fought defenses. In that moment, that very instant, Jack understood the lengths he'd go to protect the kid. He was given an instantaneous insight into what it might be like to be a parent. Jack was both bereft and contrite for the times he'd brushed his father's explanation that having a child was like having a vital organ necessary for your survival walking around outside your body, out of your control and without any real protection as corny sentiment.

Jack had to swallow hard before he could speak. "How about we work on getting you back to base first, then we'll see what I can do."

"You'll get me home?" Mac blinked, his wide-eyed trusting gaze a sure sign he hadn't quite followed what Jack had said, pain and the concussion possibly rendering him unable to truly grasp what he was asking.

"Shh. Less talking, more slowing down your breathing, bud." Jack continued to stroke Mac's hair. Suddenly going AWOL was not completely out of the realm of possibility. A Court-martial seemed a small price to pay if the possibility of fleeing Afghanistan might make Mac feel better. He was spared offering what quite likely would become a broken promise by a close bout of shelling. It thundered through the ground, rocking the cavern like there were giant, invisible dinosaurs in their midst playing a rowdy game of tag. Debris rained over them.

Mac jerked, letting go of Jack as he instinctively made a weak attempt to cover his head. Jack folded over him, offering as much shelter as possible while trying to keep the bulk of his weight off the kid.

"Make it stop. Just make it stop," Mac muttered, further breaking Jack's heart. He wasn't sure if the kid was referring to the battle going on up top or the relentless attack being waged on his body. Jack would have done anything to immediately and efficiently end both.

As it was, he took Landry's earlier suggestion to heart, sending a silent parroting of Mac's repeated plea up to the only one who had the ability to deliver on the request. Jack stayed where he was, a piss poor human shield if anything bigger than the sharp small bits of baked mud and rock biting into his neck became something larger, like whole chunks of the ceiling. Jack wouldn't be the buffer that the bookshelf had been.

Thankfully, maybe miraculously, the barrage didn't last long. The shaking ground stilled as if the dinosaurs had called a truce. The sky stopped falling. Jack remained where he was, sheltering Mac for a moment longer, his breathing and Mac's continued litany of 'make it stop' the only sounds, sans the settling of the dust.

"Damn it," the Delta operator swore as he slowly pushed himself back up to sitting when no other strike came, checking to make sure nothing had made it past him to cause Mac further harm.

"I'm sorry," Mac blinked dazedly as Jack pressed two fingers against his throat, shaking his head at the way too fast pulse. He seemed a little more with it than he had moments before. "I shouldn't have asked that."

"It's alright, bud." Jack gentled his voice, pressing the palm of his hand to Mac's sweat-covered face for a brief moment before raking fingers through his own dirt-filled hair. The going back and forth between 'coherent Mac' and 'out of his mind Mac' was giving Jack emotional whiplash. "I'm not pissed at you, just sorry your request is so far out of the realm of possibility that I can't even pretend to think it over at the moment. Let's just say my chances of getting you to good old Cali anytime soon are about as good as my stopping those Taliban bastards from hitting us with those 107's by using mind control. How about you try again. Name something else. Anything."

Mac watched him through half open eyes, seeming to consider his options. "Bozer makes this amazing baked casserole…macaroni and like four kinds of cheeses."

"Does he now?" Jack tried for a grin, not sure if Mac was serious, proving he'd once more slipped somewhere Jack couldn't quite reach or if he was ribbing Jack for making such a broad offer, which would be just like the smartass Mac who Jack had somehow developed a fierce attachment to over the last year.

"His mom used to have it for dinner when we were kids, on special occasions whenever something good happened." The earnest nostalgia in Mac's gaze spoke to the legitimacy of his request. Jack couldn't help to wonder just how rare good occurrences were in Mac's childhood that a meal still held such meaning.

"It…" Mac coughed, groaning as he brought both hands to his left side again. He pressed his head into the gory excuse for a mattress, stifling a moan when it seemed that another wave of pain had him in its grasp.

"Easy." Jack moved one of the EOD's hands, gripping it tight in his once more. He was quickly learning there was a certain, terrible desperation to having done all you could do and knowing it still wasn't anywhere close to enough.

"It tastes like happiness," Mac finished. The words were strained and Jack didn't like how the small tremors that had intermittently shaken the EOD's lithe frame were becoming more pronounced.

"That good, huh?" Jack brought the thermal sheet up higher, desperate enough to scan the area around them on a chance he'd missed an abandoned blanket or something he could use to keep Mac warmer.

"Jack, where are Stills and Candler?"

The question had Jack whipping back around, forgetting about a blanket as he sought out Mac's gaze instead. He was spared an answer when Mac's breathing hitched and he rolled towards Jack, curling into a fetal position as if he could escape what was tormenting him.

"Its okay, Mac. Just take it easy." Jack tightened his hold on Mac's hand, knowing nothing was okay. His other hand moved to rest on the kid's sweat soaked hair as he bent over to speak softly in the kid's ear. "I've got you, brother. I've got you."

Mac's breathing was fast and labored, but what had Jack's heart leaping to his throat was the unexpected release of tension in Mac's frame, the abrupt limpness of his hand in Jack's.

"Mac!" When there was no response Jack nearly panicked. He gently rolled the younger man onto his back, quickly pressing his fingers to the pulse point in Mac's neck, while placing a palm flat against the EOD's all too still chest.

"Thank you, God." Jack let out a broken laugh of relief as breath buoyed his hand and an erratic pulse registered beneath his finger tips. He patted Mac's cheek. "Come on, Kiddo. No sleeping on the job. You're giving me a heart attack here."

When nothing he tried roused Mac, Jack rocked back on his heels, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to pull his shit together. He cursed his own infuriating helplessness. Jack's gaze went back to where Landry had gone as if by sheer will he could possibly conjure his teammate and the British medics. When nothing and no one materialized, Jack took a deep breath and made it to his feet.

"I really suck at bedside vigils, kid." Moving to Mac's side, Jack carefully raised the EOD's legs placing them on the pack he'd put on the bed earlier. He placed a hand on the kid's head, watching Mac's face, which even in unconsciousness held deep furrows of pain. "I'd rather have a fingernail pulled off and trust me when I tell you that is not fun."

The lack of Mac's response and anything else to do for his friend had Jack reaching for his gun, bringing it back around to swing at his chest. He gripped the rifle in his hand, making his way to the center of the room where he placed himself resolutely between Mac and the tunnels. If nothing else, standing guard provided Jack an illusion of being even the tiniest bit useful. He dared the enemy to show their faces, almost praying for anything to shoot, to kill, even a rat the size of an armadillo. It was, after all, what Jack Dalton was good at.

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

Casting Mountains in the Sea

By : Ridley

A/N: Thank you again for all the kind reviews and comments. I'm sorry I haven't been able to personally respond to everyone but trust me when I say I enjoy each and every one . It has been a busy week! This story is winding down and Guard Your Heart will be back on rotation soon. Again, thanks to Mary who made this piece better and Gib who let me pick her brain about all things military. All mistakes and inaccuracies are all mine.

RcJ

Jack's standing sentry turned into a small patrol of the cavern, more of a back and forth pacing than anything else. His route took him from tunnel entrance to tunnel entrance, circling over to Mac, to check the kid's pulse, making sure he was still breathing. The shelling had been intermittent, the heavier bouts keeping Jack close to Mac, only to restart his rounds once the quiet returned. He found it odd that the stillness unsettled him more than the rumblings of distant fire. Jack was convinced that being in a constant state of expecting the next round but not knowing when it was coming was more torturous than actually experiencing the shelling.

The repetitive motion he continued might have soothed Jack's hyper-alert senses some, but it sure as hell didn't make time speed up. He knew Landry had made it up top, worst case scenarios withstanding. Jack gripped his rifle tighter, giving a frustrated sigh. If the contact with reinforcements had gone as planned, the other Delta operator should have been on his way back to the cavern. The trip up and back shouldn't have been more than an hour and a half at the most. There were of course at least a dozen different contingencies running through Jack's mind, the worst being that Taliban insurgents had somehow discovered the old municipal building and the entrance to the cavern. The building itself could have been damaged by the new shelling. Landry might have been taken hostage, or worse, killed on sight. Jack and Mac could be on their own, waiting on back up that might not come.

Jack was brought from his morose line of thinking by a low groan from the cot. He broke rotation and moved to Mac's side. The kid was so still Jack feared he'd imagined the sound, but the EOD moaned again. Mac's eyes moved rapidly under closed lids as he shifted his head side to side on the mattress.

"Mac?" Jack slid his rifle around to his back, sitting on the cot at Mac's hip, facing the EOD tech. He pressed his hand to Mac's forehead. "You with me, buddy?"

"Jack?" Mac's voice was hoarse and laced with pain, but Jack would take it over eerie silence any day. Eyelashes briefly fluttered on too pale skin then Mac was blinking up at the Delta, confusion filling his unfocused gaze.

"I'm here." Jack couldn't help the goofy grin he flashed his friend. "About damn time you decided to relieve me."

"What's going on?" Mac shifted, his face contorting to a grimace as he tried to look past Jack to take in their current surroundings.

"Take it easy." Jack would have brought a hand to Mac's shoulder to keep him still, but feared hurting him, so he settled for gripping the kid's cold hand hoping to offer some kind of reassurance that he was safe.

"Where are we?" Mac licked his dry, cracked lips, his gaze traveling from Jack to the dirt walls boxing them in.

"Still not back at base, I'm afraid. Landry hasn't returned yet."

"Landry?" Mac's brow furrowed, his gaze quickly returning to Jack. The wild white-eyed panic flashed just as Mac tensed, shifting his weight in an attempt to sit up. "Where are Stills and Candler?"

 _Damn._ Jack was weary of that recurring question but also understood Mac's fragmented state. He squeezed Mac's hand reassuringly. "They didn't make it, bud. We lost them in the earlier blast back at the police station. Do you remember?"

"Did I make it?" Mac's frown deepened, though his struggle quieted. The familiar look of concentration and unsure tone twisted Jack's gut

"Of course you made it?" Jack's laugh was forced, the question throwing him for a moment. He tightened his hold on the EOD's hand. "I'm here aren't I?"

"Maybe you're a dream," Mac said, a flash of fear racing through his gaze. "Or you're dead, too?"

"Brother, I'm fine, flesh and blood and still kicking just like you." Jack gave another squeeze to Mac's hand and let him go. "Besides, it's highly unlikely that you and I are going to end up in the same place in the afterlife. Now, how are you feeling?"

"Why not?" Mac asked, instead of answering Jack's question. A similar expression to the one Jack had witnessed when Mac was intently trying to figure out some complex equation or crazy-rigged explosive crossed the kid's features, followed by a look of unrelenting determination. Jack's grin came easy this time, genuine as he was struck with a sudden image of Mac as a little kid, the question 'why' a constant on his lips, unwilling to let anything go with a simple 'because I said so'.

"Why aren't we spending eternity together?" Jack scratched his head. "Well that's a pretty extensive list, but the short story is that you're one of the guys in the white hats, brother. You've brought a whole lot of good to this world, and me, well, let's just say I've done a lot of bad things I'll have to answer for."

"Answer to who?" Mac's eyes closed for a moment before he forced them open again. "Hammond?"

"No, although the major does have one hell of a god complex." Jack pointed a finger towards the ceiling of the cavern. "I'm talking about The Big Guy. Alpha and Omega. The Great I Am."

"I didn't know you were so religious." Mac blinked, tilting his head in the way he sometimes did when he couldn't quite figure Jack out, like he was some unknown element he hadn't encountered before and didn't know exactly where to put him on the periodic table.

"I'm not usually, but maybe it's been all this time I've spent with The Deacon, the new recruit Landry and I told you about. His talk of God and his time as a missionary's son got me to thinking about my Nana Beth." Jack wasn't sure if the questions meant the kid was doing better, or had just slipped into a deeper state of shock so that he wasn't feeling as much pain. As it was, Mac looked more puzzled than anything. Jack would take a befuddled Mac over an out of his head, writhing in agony Mac any day of the week. Jack gave a light chuckle. "Now _that_ woman is a saint."

As if Jack had somehow conjured Mac's previous misery by merely thinking about it, the kid's breath sped up and Mac squeezed his eyes shut, fingers gripping the sides of the poor excuse for a mattress.

"Mac." Jack brought his hand back to the kid's forehead, doubting, not for the first time, Landry's order to not give Mac anything for the pain until the medics showed. Maybe just some Ranger Candy. Surely Motrin wouldn't do more damage. The Delta didn't know how much longer he could merely sit on his hands and watch the kid suffer without doing something to help him.

"I'm okay," Mac said a bit breathlessly, his eyes still closed. "I'm okay, Jack. It's okay."

"Brother, you are so not okay." Jack slid his hand over the kid's hair, appreciating the EOD's attempt at reassuring him. He must have looked as scared as he felt if Mac, in as bad a shape as he was in, was worried about him. It at least gave credence to Jack's hope that Mac was a little more with it than he had before. Jack couldn't stop himself from thinking back on the few times he'd lost men in battle, ones who had miraculously seemed to be improving right before they succumbed to their injuries. "What can I do, bud? How can I help you?"

It seemed an excruciating eternity before Mac relaxed his death grip on the mattress and opened his eyes. He looked at Jack, offering a shaky half smile. "I'll probably regret this…but, just talk."

"Talk? You want me to talk?" Jack studied Mac, deciding that the kid definitely looked paler than before. There might have even been a bluish tint to his lips and a fine sheen of sweat shown on his dirty face. It wasn't like Jack could provide an I.V. of morphine, or produce a plane ticket to California. He sure as hell couldn't whip up a batch of Bozer's Mac-N-Cheese from thin air, but, Jack, as Landry had pointed out earlier, could out talk the best of them. "What do you want me to talk about? Women? Cars? My amazing but brief Karaoke career. I was three-state champion, you know."

"No." Mac let out another groan that Jack hoped had to do with his feelings about the suggested topics of conversation and not his physical state. "How about your Nana Beth? Tell me what she's like."

"Nana Beth?" Jack's mind vividly conjured the sights and sounds of the Austin, Texas summers he'd known as a boy. He could practically smell warm hay and horses heady with lather after a long ride. He gave Mac an approving nod and launched into his subject."Now she is a fine woman of God if ever there was one. She was raised to be a good Southern Baptist by her widowed daddy, who was a travelling evangelical minister. She followed him for seventeen years all over the country bringing the Gospel to the downtrodden right up until the day she was headed to a tent revival in San Antonio, Texas and crossed the path of the rapscallion who would turn out to be my grandfather, John Paul Dalton, JP for short."

"Let me guess…" Mac had closed his eyes as Jack talked, but opened them now and cut them towards the older soldier. "He was a scoundrel, like you?"

"He was that, and much worse, brother." Jack laughed. "He was Catholic."

"Is that bad?" Mac's brows came together as he tried to analyze the information for something he might have missed. "They're both Christians."

"For my devout Southern Baptists great grandfather it was." Jack remembered the way his Nana's eyes would gleam with mischief when she would tell Jack the story of how her beloved daddy reacted when his one and only baby girl brought Jack's future grandfather to dinner. "My great grandfather thought being Catholic was just a notch above being a heathen. He believed they were as about as Christian as your run of the will pagan. And let me tell you JP's Irish Catholic momma didn't exactly think that highly of the Baptist sort either. She said Beth might as well have been called Bathsheba for how she turned her son's head, leading a boy after God's own heart astray from the path of priesthood."

"JP was going to be a priest?" Mac's eyes widened slightly, shifting his legs on Jack's pack.

"Oh hell no." Jack grinned, trying to ignore how Mac had once again wrapped an arm tightly over his midsection and how his face had become drawn again. "JP was headed for Mexico. He'd made it all the way from Austin, when he ran into Beth. You see JP figured busting broncs across the border was a far better suit for him than the plans his momma had in mind. Don't get me wrong. He loved God and all, but he also loved whiskey, horses, and had a great affinity for all the beautiful women the good Lord had taken great care in creating."

"Now that sounds like you." Mac snorted, despite the obvious signs that he was struggling. "What happened?"

"Well regardless of setting off a Romeo and Juliet type of scandal in both families, they were determined to see it through and be together. Beth is of the stubborn sort and she believed their faith would see them through."

"Did it?" The question was punctuated by a hitch of breath and Mac unexpectedly latched on to Jack's hand, his fingers cold against Jack's warm skin.

"I'm here aren't I?" Jack winked at Mac, wishing like hell he was sharing this story with the kid over a beer back at base. "Living proof that love always finds a way."

"Are they still alive?" Mac swallowed hard, blinking as his eyes glistened with unshed tears that Jack knew had nothing to do with his grandparent's story. Mac was hurting. Jack was at a loss.

"You bet they are." Jack tried to ignore his own racing heart. He forced himself to continue as if nothing was wrong, as if they really were just two buddies swapping tales. "They still run one of the finest horse ranches in Texas. When we get out of here, I'll take you to meet them. Beth will make some of her mouth-watering buttermilk biscuits. They might even taste like happiness, if happiness tastes like warm melted butter wrapped in a fluffy cloud. Be prepared, she'll insist on fattening you up right away with her fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and yearly blue-ribbon winning cherry pies. After dinner, to get out of doing dishes, JP will want to show you his favorite stud horses and all the fillies about to foal on the place, not to mention riding through every acre of land to point out all the spots I managed to find trouble during the summers I stayed with them, including the place where I got all tangled up in a coyote trap."

"Cherry pie is my favorite," Mac said, his brow furrowing as he regarded Jack. "But I have to confess something."

"What is it, Kid?" Jack could see how hard it was becoming for Mac to keep his head in the conversation, the pull of unconsciousness obviously too tempting. He leaned closer, determined to keep Mac with him. "Tell me."

"I'm not a fan of horses." Mac coughed, then groaned.

"What?" Jack half laughed, relieved that the simple confession had nothing to do with Mac's physical condition. "How can you _not_ like horses, bud? Horses are awesome."

"It's not that I don't _like_ them. I'm ….cautious around them. Meaning I don't go near them." Mac inhaled shakily, managing to shoot Jack a very serious look. "At all. Ever."

"And here I thought Angus MacGyver wasn't afraid of anything." Jack had seen the kid walk down IED laden streets with a confidence that belayed his years. He'd also once watched him rush into a building full of frightened children in Iraq to disarm a bomb that had only minutes before detonating without a second thought to his own welfare or Jack's, who was having a heart attack from his position across the street. It was a trait that Jack both admired the hell out of and loathed with every fiber of his being.

"Everyone is afraid of something," Mac replied, his face contorting in pain.

"You ain't wrong about that, brother." Jack used his free hand to pull the blanket up around the kid. "I, myself, hate rats, and just about anything else that squeaks and is prone to gnaw a man's toes off while he's still breathing and very much alive."

"I don't think rats do that, Jack."

"Tell that to my old staff sergeant. We didn't call him Three-toe Tommy for nothing." Jack gave a convincingly mock shudder. "That man should never go bare footed."

"Are you afraid of dying?" Mac segued sharply, ignoring Jack's attempt to lighten the mood.

The Delta operator tried to cover his reaction to the out of the blue question but wasn't quite sure he managed it. "It's not something I look forward to, especially in light of the whole not so pleasant afterlife accommodations I'm expecting, despite Nana Beth's fervent prayers for my redemption, but I wouldn't say I'm afraid of dying."

"I'm not either." Despite Mac's typical skittishness when it came to physical contact, the kid was the one to tighten his grip on Jack's hand this time. "I think this place has cured me of that forever. No matter what, I want you to know I'm not afraid."

"Hey now." Jack shook his head, his throat growing tight. He knew where Mac was coming from. A soldier often stopped fearing death. It wasn't the lack of being afraid that was so dangerous in a place like Afghanistan. Instead, it was the state of being constantly aware of the danger to a point that your body assimilated it as something normal, so commonplace that a guy grew objectively distant about his own mortality. "There's no need to be talking about dying. I told you Landry will be back anytime, and we're going to get you out of here and patched up."

"No." Mac's gaze was resolute. Jack could now read a good bit of remorse, mixed with the pain and confusion. "I don't think I can make it until then. I'm sorry…Promise me, you'll tell Bozer, Jack. Not some uniforms at our doorstep. Tell him it was quick and painless. And that it wasn't meaningless."

"Stop, Mac. Don't even say that shit." Jack knew he was sounding a little unstrung. Truth be told, the cool calm exterior he usually exuded on missions had started to crack as soon as they drug that first dead soldier from Mac's team out of the rubble. Being forced to watch Mac hurting and unable to do a damn thing about it had furthered the fractures so that now, Jack was as brittle as a fallen Oak leaf at the end of dry spell in November. "Beth would tell you to have a little faith, brother. She's fond of saying that if a man even has a tiny amount, we're talking mustard seed size, then he can tell a mountain to jump and it sure as hell will. If a guy believes, he can even toss that very mountain right into the sea."

"You know that's theoretically impossible, right." Mac frowned at Jack, suddenly so much like the 'normal Mac' that Jack's eyes stung, his throat closing up so that he was now the one having a hard time keeping his breath steady.

"The amount of explosives it would take to shift a tectonic plate to the degree a mountain would actually topple," Mac continued, "even more appear to _leap_ is incredible let a long fall into the sea…"

"It's a metaphor, damn it! Or a parable. I get the two mixed up," Jack interrupted Mac's diatribe. The kid's long-winded explanations could at times make Jack crazy, especially when he was 500 yards away on the other end of a comm., looking down a scope. Now, though, he'd take a hundred such boring voice-overs of what the kid was doing and why he was doing it, including the supporting theories that gave him good reason to do what it was he was doing in the first place over one dying request for Jack to be the one to break the news of Mac's death to his good buddy, Bozer.

"Probably a parable," Mac muttered, looking a little perplexed as to why Jack was so angry. "I believe Jesus used parables."

"Whatever." Jack raked a hand over his close-cropped hair in frustration. The kid could be exasperating even half out of his mind. "The whole fact that something shouldn't be possible is exactly why they call it a freaking miracle, Mac."

"I don't believe in miracles." Mac had never looked more steadfast, or more broken. Another wince of pain had him tightening an arm protectively over his middle once more and Jack losing all his ire. "Especially in this place. In this war. There is no such thing."

"Whatever you do, don't let Beth hear you saying something like that when we visit her, kid. The woman thinks faith can get a guy through anything, even this bloody war on enemy ground." Mac's unwavering conviction only worked to cement Jack's resolve to prove his friend wrong. He let go of Mac's hand, reaching up to remove the pendant of St. Jude from his neck. He held it out so Mac could see it. "In fact, she'd probably give you the same speech I heard when she gave me this or she'd turn you over her knee, likely both."

Jack rushed on before Mac could interject anymore MIT rhetoric. "You see Beth might have stayed true to her Southern Baptist roots after marrying JP, but she grew quite partial to the Catholic services, all that pomp and circumstance suited her, and she took a real shine to their Saints. Woman has the damn things everywhere." Jack leaned forward and carefully slipped the chain around Mac's neck, letting the pendant rest against his friend's chest. "This one here is her favorite-St. Jude. She calls him the miracle man."

"Jack, I can't take this." Mac tried to reach up to remove the necklace, but Jack caught his arm gently guiding it back to his side. He kept his fingers wrapped around Mac's wrist, taking comfort in the kid's pulse.

"I want you to wear it," Jack insisted. He softened his voice, kept his gaze steady on the EOD. "No one I've ever known is more deserving of their very own miracle than you."

"But she gave it to you to keep you safe, you never take it off." Mac's breath caught again and he bit his lip hard enough to bring a welling of blood to the cracked surface.

"Hey." Jack's Nana had taught him to look for the good in any situation, the faintest trace of light in the bleakest of places. It was true Jack hadn't found much in the war to write home about, but Mac was just the kind of revelation his grandmother would love. "Beth would understand. Right now, keeping _you_ safe is my number one priority."

Before Mac could respond there was a clamoring from the tunnel. Jack turned quickly, reclaiming his rifle, taking a knee in front of Mac. He prayed it was Landry making a ruckus to let them know he was coming in.

"Dalton." The bellowing herald wasn't Landry's voice but Major Hammond's.

"I'll be damned." Jack let out the breath he was holding, flashing Mac a quick grin before standing. "What'd I tell you, brother? St. Jude is already working his magic."

"Look who I found waiting for me at the municipal building." Landry was the first one down from the passageway, followed by Hammond, Pauley, and two marines Jack didn't recognize. "Seems the Major was worried about us."

"I was worried about my EOD tech." Hammond slid his night vision goggles to the top of his head, making his way across the cavern to come alongside Jack. "I pay a pretty penny in chocolate and whiskey to keep him at our disposal, not to mention his C.O.'s recent penchant for Cuban cigars. He's one of the most expensive trades I've made in this damn sandbox."

" _He_ can hear you," Mac spoke up, albeit weakly. His face still reflected the pain he was in, but Jack took heart at the attempt the kid made at a cocky smirk.

"So he can." Hammond grinned at the EOD. "To hear the drama queen, Landry, tell it you were practically at Death's door, Shepherd. I told him he had his tighty whities in a wad for nothing. Kids named Angus are as tough as they come."

"A guy named Perseus would know." Mac surprised Jack by getting right back with Hammond.

"Damn straight." Hammond nodded, looking just as pleased. "We're cut from the same cloth, you and me. Though, I got to say, son, you look like hell."

"I feel like hell, Sir," Mac replied. Jack was relieved the kid hadn't mentioned his impending doom to Hammond, hoping his spirits were buoyed by the arrival of back-up.

"Then what do you say we get you out of here?" Hammond turned his gaze to Jack, all traces of teasing gone. "The medics are right behind us, Tombstone. They'll prepare MacGyver for dust off. I have CCATT on standby. They'll fly the kid to Bagram and then on to Ramstein Air Base once he's stable."

"Any chance I can catch that same bird?" Jack hoped like hell he'd not have to plead his case.

"Already booked you a seat." Hammond quickly returned his gaze to Mac, gave a wink. "Can't have Ol'Jack slacking on my command for him to watch your six, can I?"

"You know he'll do anything for some R&R." Mac was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, but Jack gave the kid credit, he was making a grand effort in front of the major. "Even stowaway on a med-flight.

"I'll make sure he pulls an extra mission when you're all squared away. Jack will stay with you until we know you're on the mend." Hammond nodded over his shoulder to where Pauley, Landry and the marines were waiting at the entrance to the opposite tunnel they'd just come from. "Now me and the boys, we're going back for the rest of your team. We'll get them home. That's a promise."

Jack warily watched Mac's face for any sign that he might still be under the impression that Stills and Candler weren't KIA. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or pained when Mac's face clouded over with grief.

"Thank you, Sir." Mac gave a slight nod to the major.

"No thanks necessary, Shepherd. You're one of us now." Hammond glanced at Jack, the look of understanding conveying more than words could. "We take care of our own."

Jack watched his commander and team climb into the passageway, noting that one of the marines stayed behind to stand guard. He took a seat on the cot beside Mac once more, unable to resist the 'I told you so' smirk he intended to send the kid. When he turned to face the EOD, Mac's eyes had slid closed, one of his hands curled over the pendant Jack had given him, the other lying limp at his side.

For a second Jack felt that familiar flash of panic, unable to resist the urge to reach out and press his fingers against Mac's throat. He sighed, when a faint but rapid beat greeted him, the slight rise and fall of Mac's chest irrefutable proof the kid was every bit as tough as Hammond had said. Mac was out, but he was still hanging on.

Jack ran a hand down his face, deciding that it might be time he took a little of his own advice and had some faith, even if it was of the mustard seed kind. After all, Jack Dalton might not be a religious man, but he was a man who knew how to keep a promise. It was the least Mac deserved, and nothing less than what his Nana Beth would expect.

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Casting Mountains in the Sea

By: Ridley

A/N: Thank you to Gib, who gave great advice and who inspired a few lines of dialogue in this last chapter. Also to my wonderful friend Mary, who I'm sure had much better things to do than read and re-read all the different versions of this ending that I sent her. Thank you, my friend for making it better. Also to everyone who read and commented. The reviews were always inspiring. It's hard for me to let a story go sometimes. This one is especially difficult as I so enjoyed writing it and exploring Mac and Jack's past. I hope it brings a bit of the boys to this endless hiatus. Thank you for letting me share! PS. Guard Your Heart is coming up soon. And, if there is interest, there just might be a third story in the How Wolves Change Rivers series. I think it might involve Mac's recovery from his being shot and thinking he'd lost Niki in the pilot and would entail a visit to a the finest horse ranch in Texas for some rehab and comfort food. But before I get ahead of myself...on with _this_ story.

RCJ

Waiting was torture. Pure and simple.

Jack Dalton knew a thing or two about torture. He'd endured it on a couple of continents.

He'd been trained by the best and most creative in The Company and in Delta to shove pain aside, to tame and harness the sensations. Every soldier used their own scenarios to accomplish the task. Jack often thought of his pain as a wild mustang he'd once tried to break.

The animal was just as out of control and unpredictable as the body's reaction to being purposefully hurt by another human. It took stamina and stubbornness and a whole lot of energy to rope, bridle and finally ride that beast without being thrown. Jack managed it. He survived it. Just as he'd endured interrogations by the enemy without breaking. This waiting for word on Mac though…that was an entirely different story.

Every nerve in Jack's body was on edge, primed for the worst. Adrenaline fueled the Delta operator's fight or flight reaction, but he might as well have been as restrained as a man chained to a wall, or a stallion fenced in for the first time.

"You're looking a little frayed around the edges there, brother."

At the sound of the familiar, but completely unexpected voice Jack quickly brought his gaze from an intense study of the speckled patterns on the tiled floor. Hammond was standing before him, a duffel thrown over his shoulder, a Styrofoam cup of coffee Jack knew hadn't come from the base hospital gripped in one hand.

"Ham? What the hell are you doing here?" Jack's shock must have registered in his tone because his commander gave a satisfied grin at having caught him off guard.

"I hitched a ride on a transport, not long after you left." Hammond took the chair next to Jack, folding his six–five frame into the uncomfortable plastic chair. He pushed the coffee towards the other man. "I know you're not a fan, but trust me when I say you look like you could use this."

"Thanks." Jack took the drink despite, like Hammond said, not being a big consumer of the stuff. It gave him the jitters, especially as strong as Hammond and most of the others on his team took it. Ants in the pants and a shaky hand was the last thing a sniper wanted when he was spending hours in a blind, but it wasn't like Jack was going to be working anytime soon.

"How's our boy?" Hammond set the bag on the floor, stretching his long legs to a more comfortable position.

"As about as good as can be expected." Jack tried not to let the question take his mind straight back to where it had been lingering the last few hours-the med-flight to Bagram. Mac had come to half way in. Awaking stripped to your skivvies, strapped to an EMS spine board with air medics and their glowing night-vision goggles looming over you was enough to give anyone a hell of a fright. Jack had been in similar situations. Considering the shock and blood loss Mac was suffering, the kid hadn't responded as badly as some might have. He'd fought though. Screamed. Called out for his father, for Jack. The sound was something Jack wouldn't be able to shake off anytime soon. He glanced at Hammond. "Mac's blood pressure tanked. Turns out the internal bleeding was just as bad as Landry thought. The kid's spleen is a goner, and for a while I was damn certain we were going to lose him, too."

"MacGyver is a fighter, Jack." Hammond's face had grown serious, his dark gaze holding Jack's.

"He is." Jack gave his commander a firm nod before looking down at the cup he held between his hands. Jack was grateful for the warmth, the hospital's air conditioning having leached every bit of the desert's relentless heat from Jack's body. He was also thankful his hands had stopped shaking, a condition that hadn't required one ounce of caffeine. The commotion at Heathe Craig wasn't helping matters. The Joint Theater Hospital was slammed, a chaotic cacophony of frenzied activity and nightmarish sounds. Apparently roadside bombs had ripped through two Humvees in Kabul, wounding nine soldiers, killing two. One of the soldier's screams had almost driven Jack outside, but his need to stay as close to Mac as possible had overridden his instinct to escape the hellish backdrop. "He's still in surgery."

"The surgeons are topnotch here." Hammond glanced around at the small waiting area of which they were the only current occupants. "I've spent my fair share of nights in this place. They're used to seeing the worst of the worst. Mac is in good hands, brother."

"I know." Jack took a drink of the coffee rather than comment further on the fact he wouldn't feel good about a twenty year vetted surgeon from Johns Hopkins opening Mac up, let along some of the fresh faced, shell-shocked kids in white coats he'd seen scurrying through the halls here, blood on their hands. He coughed after swallowing the strong brew, the distinctive tell of alcohol burning a trail down his throat. "Damn, Hammer. What'd you use to spike this? Lighter fluid?"

"I would have used some of my fine Scottish whiskey, but I was fleeced of all that the last time we needed Mac for a job." Hammond motioned for Jack to take another drink. "That's a little something I picked up from one of the leathernecks on the ride here. Told you it was just what you needed."

"If a shot of Drano is a cure to what ails me." Jack took another drink, despite the bitter taste and fear that he might lose the hide off his tongue.

"I've seen you toss back much more questionable concoctions." Hammond grunted. "It'll take the edge off, or at least blur the sharpest parts. That's all that matters."

"Thanks." Jack didn't want to appear ungrateful. Hammond sure as hell didn't have to sign off on Jack making the trip to Bagram, let alone show up in person to check on Mac. Hammond was a man who walked his talk, as Jack's father would say. When he told Mac that he was one of them, he'd meant it and Jack knew a last minute Blackhawk ride to Bagram was the least of the obstacles Perseus Hammond would overcome for one of his men. "I appreciate the effort."

"You're not the only one who cares what happens to the kid." Hammond sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "He's one of the best EOD's I've ever seen. I'd hate to have to break in someone new."

"Admit it, old man." Jack could already feel the drink working its magic, loosening the bunched muscles along his upper back. He rolled his shoulders, giving Hammond a knowing gaze. "The kid had you at Angus."

Hammond didn't deny Jack's accusation. "Let's just say MacGyver has surprised me. At my age, that doesn't happen very often."

Jack's mouth twitched. "How many of these _coffees_ did you have on the flight here?"

"Don't go acting like I've gone soft." Hammond leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees as he watched a gurney rush by, a cluster of medical staff surrounding it. "You're the one who's changed."

"Maybe." Jack watched two nurses jogging behind, their discussion over a chart animated and frenzied. He glanced at the clock, noting three hours had passed since he'd seen Mac. He took another long drink of the coffee before facing Hammond. "I just can't explain this need I have to make sure he's safe. Like a part of my own life somehow hangs in the balance right along with his. My granddaddy used to tell me that if you rescue something, you become responsible for it. And I rescued a whole hell of a lot of things in my day, but I never felt the way about them that I do that kid."

"Love will do that to a guy, Jack." Hammond nodded, understanding filling his dark gaze. "Makes you feel accountable for all kinds of things you can't control. It's the curse any good parent learns early on."

"Damn, Ham, do you have a kid?" Jack searched his memory trying to recall even one instance when his old friend had mentioned children. Some soldiers, especially those in Delta and other special forces were tight-lipped when it came to their lives outside of the service, not willing to jeopardize their families or risk a backlash from the things they may be called on to do. Ham was quite a bit older than Jack. He'd once mentioned an ex-wife and a nasty divorce, but hadn't said much more on the topic. Jack had never pressed.

"I used to." Hammond shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking in a new rush of activity as a group of uniforms passed by them. When he turned to face Jack once more, his eyes had taken on the flint-like quality with which Jack was more accustomed. "It's something a man doesn't easily forget."

"I can imagine it's not; but Mac's not my kid." Jack took another drink of coffee, giving a slight shake of his head. He'd never imagined himself the paternal type, especially after screwing up the chance he'd had with an old girlfriend and her young daughter when he was in deep with the CIA. After that train wreck, Jack figured the closest he might get to having a family would be a great dog, and a few horses of his own somewhere far in the future. Maybe it was why the protective instinct he felt towards Mac caught him by complete surprise. "Hell, despite what he looks like, he's a grown man."

"Maybe, but just like I predicted, he's also become that little brother you never knew you always wanted." Hammond fastened his annoying 'I know you so well' grin on Jack. "Admit it."

"I'll do not such thing." Jack rolled his eyes. "You know I don't go around with my feelings all spilling out like I was some cracked open piñata dropping candy for all the kiddies."

"Right, Tombstone." Hammond clasped Jack on the shoulder and gave him a little shake. "You're more of an emotional fortress kind of guy. A real Fort Knox with your feelings. No one ever knows what's really going on in that tiny, black heart of yours. "

"I care about the kid, alright." Jack frowned, knocking Hammond's hand away. He was pretty sure he cared more than he was willing to admit even to himself. There was no denying Mac had become the brother Jack had never been given by blood. "There. I said it. Are you happy?"

"There's no turning back now." Hammond looked smug. "You're always going to feel responsible for him. No shared DNA required. Trust me."

"That's why one way or another I'm getting him home." Jack swirled the dregs of his coffee, before downing the last of it. He flashed Hammond a determined look. "This can't happen again."

"As soon as Mac's stable from surgery, we'll make sure he's on the next transport to Germany, then if need be we'll see he gets to Walter Reed in Washington." Hammond seemed willing to take it another step farther. "When medical clears him, If Mac agrees, I could even talk to the higher ups. Make sure he's assigned to us on a more permanent basis."

"I appreciate that more than I can say, Hammer. Really, I do." A few months ago Jack would have jumped at the offer, would have worked on Mac until the kid relented, but now, now he knew that bringing Mac into The Unit would only be a temporary solution at best. There was even the chance it could make things worse for the kid. "But when I say home, I mean _home_ , home, Sir. I want Mac out of this godforsaken desert and away from a war he had no part being in from the beginning."

"Jack…that's Mac's decision." Hammond ran a hand over his bald head, giving a weary sigh as if he had been expecting the declaration for a while now. "I get you want to protect him, but like you said, he's a grown ass man. He's a soldier. A warrior. You can't drag him out of the field just because this latest scare shook you up."

"Drag him out of the field?" Jack could feel all the kinks the spiked coffee had loosened start to tighten up once more. "Mac hasn't been in the best frame of mind since Pena was blown to hell right in front of him. Throw in the disastrous mission in Iraq a few months back with us and now this. Who knows how those ANP's died, but we both know it wasn't pretty."

Jack took a calming breath, reminding himself Hammond was not the enemy. "Then having two of his team not make it back, when he survived. It's enough to screw anyone over. Even if the Army pushes for Mac to go back on duty once he passes his medical eval I'm not sure he'd be the resource they need him to be."

"They could always send him back to be an instructor." Hammond looked thoughtful, shaking his head before Jack could even voice a protest. "But we both know the kid's brain is too damn quick to work with the average Joe. Mac would be hard-pressed to dumb down the stuff he knows, let alone explain what he does."

Jack snorted. "You can't put Angus MacGyver's brain in an Army manual."

Hammond harrumphed. "If only we could."

"The only reason Mac joined this fight in the first place is because he believed he could fix things, that he could somehow use that ginormous brain of his to make a difference, to help the boys on the front line." Jack crumbled the coffee cup in his fist, recalling how Mac had told him about a phone call with his grandfather, the one which had changed everything and had him rethinking and eventually leaving his life at MIT. It wasn't a big leap that Mac's decision to join the Army might have had a little bit to do with wanting to prove himself to his grandfather, or maybe it had something to do with the kid's deserter of a father, who Jack couldn't quite wrap his mind around. "It was brave as hell, but naïve and probably more than a little impulsive. He shouldn't have to pay for it with his life, or his limbs, or worse, his sanity."

"Jack, half the kids over here are in this mess because they made an impulsive decision or believed that they could somehow be a hero and save the day." Hammond made a valid point. He pointed a finger at Jack. "You and I probably signed on for similar reasons, pal."

"He wants out, Ham." It wasn't that Jack didn't see what his commander was saying, but Jack couldn't save every well-intentioned, good-hearted boy that had come over with grandiose well-intentioned notions dancing in their noggins. But he had to at least try and save _his_ boy. "I need to make that happen."

"It's still a…."

"A sticky wicket," Jack interrupted, recalling their conversation from before when they were still back at base. "I get it. It won't be easy. Mac still has time on his contract. The Army's invested money and time in his training. Yada, yada, yada. There are other ways Mac can serve his country and you know it. Ways that don't involve him being targeted by the Taliban on a regular basis or sitting a desk job where his talents are wasted."

"I suppose you want me to help you with this great plan?" Hammer lifted a brow.

"You can't tell me you don't love the little guy, too." Jack forced a half grin. "Ever since you found out his god-awful first name, you've felt a kinship with the kid."

"We've already covered my feelings on the subject, Dalton."

Jack's grin faded. "Then you have to see that Mac's different. He has so much more to offer to this world than being blown to pieces in Afghanistan disarming some damn IED."

"The CIA would take him in a heartbeat," Hammond suggested, the look in his dark gaze telling of how he thought his suggestion might go over with Jack. "They took you the last time around."

"The Company doesn't deserve Mac and you know it." Jack pitched the destroyed coffee cup in the trashcan a few feet away from them. Just thinking about Mac landing a bad handler, or being burned on a mission was enough to twist Jack's gut. It wasn't that there weren't good, honorable men and women inside, but they were few and far between, and there was always an agenda that ranked above the welfare of any one person. Jack had learned his lessons about the CIA the hard way. "Besides, I've burnt my bridges with them. They're not going to want me back, and even if they did, I can't go down that road again."

Hammond sat up straighter, his pencil thin eyebrows arching almost comically. "So you're going to?"

"It's not like you can't drum up another sharpshooter. I'm tired of this war myself. There are other ways to fight terrorism and bring the bad guys to justice without waking up with blood on your hands and sand in your damn pants day in and day out." Jack had made up his mind while sitting in the waiting room for the last few hours, listening to the distinctive soundtrack that was the war in Afghanistan. The movie would be playing in his mind for years to come. He believed in his fellow soldiers. He believed in his country and he even still believed in The Army. Jack did not however hold any loyalties to the pencil pushers and politicians who sat safely in Washington trying to fight a war with too few men and far too much corruption. "Besides, you made it my priority to keep an eye on the kid. We both know I don't quit a mission until the directive is accomplished."

"Jack, as much as I would love to see Butch and Sundance ride off into the sunset, I don't have that kind of pull. You're talking something bigger than I can sign off on." Hammond ran a hand down his mouth. "Even if I could, the people who could make those rusty wheels turn aren't going to cut you and Mac loose out of the goodness of their patriotic hearts. They're going to want something in return."

"I'm willing to give them something always in high demand." Jack had too much time on their flight to Bagram listening to Mac's distress to think about what lengths he'd go to when it came to getting the kid out of the desert. Mac's coding had cemented his decision as to where exactly he might draw the line in the sand. "There's always a certain clientele in need of a man with my particular skill set. I'm willing to be their go to guy for a while if it means Mac gets out of this war before it kills him or changes who he is."

"Do you know what you're saying?" Hammond turned his body towards Jack, lowering his voice. He studied the sniper, unfamiliar concern registering on his dark features. "The price they ask won't be cheap, brother. We're talking at best a pound of flesh, at worst, they'll take a hefty piece of your soul."

"As my dad always said, you get what you pay for." Jack kept his gaze locked on Hammond, making sure his old friend understood he was aware of the costs, and was more than willing to make good on the debt. "Mac's worth it."

"Damn it." Hammond sighed. "Since you're hell bent on doing this, and we both know I'm not going to change your mind, I do know of this little covert OP out of California. They're the kind of people the agencies with all the letters in their names call when they don't want to get caught with their hands in the cookie jar." His gaze moved to a nurse hurrying past before settling back on Jack. "They have the resources and the carte blanch to get things done, all with a bit of style. Some of their biggest benefactors, for lack of a better word, have the kind of pull you're talking about."

"Sounds like my kind of place." Jack looked at Hammond. "But would they have a place for Mac?"

"They masquerade as some high-tech, research based, think tank." Hammond chuckled. "Angus MacGyver would most likely be a feather in their high-minded cap. He could only lend credibility to their cover, and Mac might actually enjoy some of the legitimate work they do."

"Sounds like it might be the perfect fit." Jack nodded. "Having a whiz kid MIT alum with his own particular set of skills on top of what the Army has trained him to do will have them salivating. Mac's knowledge of bio-chemical weapons and explosive ordnance disposal alone should have them clamoring for him to sign on."

"Their current Director, Patricia Thornton, is a real spitfire, and a straight shooter. Well, as straight a shooter as any spook I've known. She owes me a favor." Hammond's face lit up in a rare smile. "Of course, I owe her a bigger one. Proposing you and Mac for her two newest agents just about ought to even things out between us."

"Wait." Jack's brow furrowed. "Am I the favor she owes you, or the one you owe her?"

"What do you think, Tombstone?"

"Honestly, I think I could really care less if I'm the consolation prize or not, as long as Mac comes out on the winning end." Jack met Hammond's gaze, giving him another slight nod. "Make it happen, brother."

RcJ

Jack had tried to stay awake. He'd given it a hell of an effort after Mac's doctor had come and spoken to him and Hammond. The kid had made it through surgery with no complications. His ribs would heal, the concussion was moderate, not severe and as Jack had pointed out to Mac, a spleen wasn't necessary in the grand scheme of things. It was an optional organ, always better if you could opt to keep it, but not detrimental if you did happen to lose it. The doctor had assured them that the blood, IV fluids and antibiotics they'd given Mac would have the kid on the mend in no time. Some R&R couldn't hurt either.

With that worry lessened, the Delta Operator had done well holding vigil, Hammond's special brew helping, right up until the point Mac had been settled in a room, and the major had headed back to base. Even the hospital had quieted as night wore into the early morning hours, a thankful and rare reprieve one of Mac's nurses assured. She had told Jack to take advantage of it while he could.

Still, typical stubbornness and a desire not to have Mac awake and Jack not be alert and present kept Jack fighting back the exhaustion and demands his body were making to just shut down. The sheer monotony of watching Mac's chest rise and fall combined with the insistent lure of relief and the inescapable crash from the adrenaline high had Jack pulling a chair up to Mac's hospital bed, resting his head on the mattress near his friend. He would close his eyes for just a moment.

Jack wasn't sure what length of time that moment had stretched into but when he jerked awake the echoes of a scream chased him back into complete consciousness. His neck protested loudly as he tried to sit up, right along with the rest of his body that had stiffened during his impromptu nap.

"You snore." Mac's soft declaration had Jack causing himself further pain as he quickly swiveled to see the patient.

"Says who?" Jack grinned, relief at finding Mac watching him through half-lidded eyes better than a handful of Motrin and a cup of Hammond's homebrew. It had a quicker effect as well. Any thoughts of needing a good chiropractor gave way to elation. "You were unconscious, brother."

"Which should tell you something about the decibel level." Mac shifted slightly on the pillow.

"Hah." Jack laughed, glad to see Mac was coherent and seemingly clear-minded. He'd come to a few times before, but had been disoriented and uncommunicative, drifting right back out. Jack reached out and squeezed Mac's hand closest to him, the one free of an I.V. "How you feeling, kiddo?"

"Numb. And thirsty." Mac swallowed thickly, glancing up at the I.V. pole. He didn't protest when Jack reached for a cup on the table by the bed and offered him a spoon of ice chips the nurse had left during his last round. After a few bites, Mac asked,"What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Jack knew how disorienting it could be to come out surgery. He didn't want to toss out anything that might add additional stress. He returned the ice to the small table, his gaze watching Mac.

"I was in Bagram." Mac's brow wrinkled in concentration. He looked at Jack, but in a way that said he was seeing something beyond the Delta operator. "I was with my team and some ANP's. There was massive shelling, and then you were there."

"That's the short version of a very long story." Jack grinned, giving Mac's hand another squeeze before standing with every intention of pressing the call button to alert Mac's nurse he was awake and talking. He let out a groan when his back popped loudly and his knees complained about the sudden movement.

"Are you okay?" A machine monitoring Mac's heart rate beeped angrily. "Were you hurt?"

"Hey, I'm good, bud." Jack shook his head at the kid's tendency to focus on everyone else around him, to the exclusion of his own welfare. "You're the one hooked to all the machines, with wires and tubes in places we're not going to talk about."

"Am I okay?" Mac looked down at the blankets covering him, took a moment to take in the I.V. in his arm. The bewildered look he gave Jack would have been kind of adorable if it weren't for the blood stained strands of blond hair that poked from beneath the bandage wrapped around the kid's head and the spectacular bruises that now stood out on his pale face. Then there was the flash of panic that raced through his glassy blue eyes, mixing poorly with the residual fear.

"You're going to be fine." Jack reclaimed his seat, figuring reassuring the kid was more important than alerting the medical staff that Mac was awake. He placed a hand on Mac's arm. "I promise there are no parts missing except for a spleen that wasn't all that important to begin with. The broken ribs will heal although laughing for a while is inadvisable." Jack forced another grin. "So is sneezing."

Mac still didn't look convinced. "Anything else?"

"Well there's the concussion, which might account for some of the holes in your memory, but no worries because we both know how hard your head is. The 8th wonder of the world, better known as your magical brain, is all good."

Okay." Mac looked a little less frightened, which Jack would take as a win. Though the kid's frown stayed in place as he brought a hand carefully over his stomach. "I'm guessing I have the good drugs to thank for not feeling any of those things you just described?"

"That you do. We'll make sure they don't wean you off them for a while." Jack patted Mac's arm once more and sat up straighter, stifling any grunts this time. "You need your rest and your accommodations leave a little to be desired in the peace and quiet department."

"Where are we?" Mac seemed to take sudden interest in their surroundings. "How'd we get here?"

"We're at Heathe Craig, on the base at Bagram." Jack hoped the med flight was one of the memories that didn't come back to the kid. Mac calling out for Jack to help him was something Jack wished he could forget as well. He ran a hand over his face, choosing to focus on the fact he'd be in desperate need of a razor soon instead of the strong sense of failure nagging at him. Jack nodded to the machines monitoring Mac. "You gave us a good scare during dustoff, but the doctors here have taken really good care of you. With some rest, you're going to be good as new."

"But not Stills and Candler?" Mac shot Jack a desperate glance. One that held a glimmer of hope that maybe Mac had dreamed the worst of what had happened.

"No, bud. They unfortunately were beyond any help by the time we found you all."

"Okay." Mac closed his eyes for a moment and Jack scrambled for the right thing to say, only there wasn't anything to say. He knew damn well from experience that even well-meaning words were cheap and often ill-suited to offer any modicum of comfort. He merely reclaimed his hold on Mac's hand and when the kid looked at him once more, Mac merely gave a nod of understanding. "Hammond get them home?"

"Yeah. The Major was here earlier." Jack glanced over to the bedside table to the bag Hammond had delivered. "Brought a bunch of get well gifts from the rest of your unit. Your C.O. even came off with some of that expensive chocolate he's collected on you. If the stack of Playboys are any indication, I'd say Landry and Pauley also added some of their own sweets to the little care package. There's a Bible, too. I'm guessing The Deacon was hoping to counter any of their devilish influence. He sent word through Hammer that he was praying for your quick recovery."

Mac's glassy eyes unexpectedly filled with panic once more and Jack was confused and more than a little worried when the kid jerked his hand from beneath Jack's and brought it to his chest.

"Mac? You okay?"

"Your medal-St. Jude," Mac patted the thin hospital gown he was wearing, an echo of pain appearing on his waxen face. "The one Beth gave you…"

"It's fine," Jack assured the kid, resting a gentle hand on Mac's shoulder to still the movement. "The medics gave me all your stuff they removed. I've got the medal and your tags. It's all good."

It seemed to take a moment for the words to penetrate the drug-induced haze that Jack was sure Mac had going on, but the kid calmed down, and the dread faded from his gaze.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you even remember me giving you the medal." Jack lifted a brow, not sure if he should mention the way Mac had been talking earlier back in the cavern to warrant Jack's having offered up the pendant. "You were pretty out of it."

"Even with a head wound and shock, it was hard to drown out your relentless prattling." Mac blinked, giving a weak smile. The small gesture had Jack feeling a bit like he'd just been given respite from holding a far too heavy beam, his arms and legs all noodle loose after being relieved of the immense strain. "I think I'd like your grandparents."

"You will," Jack vowed. He'd already been making plans for when they were out of the desert for good. Convincing Mac to take a side trip to Texas on the way to California shouldn't be all that hard. "I told you we're going to head there as soon as we get out of here."

"If we get out of here." Mac's faint grin disappeared beneath a look of defeat. A haunting howl echoed from another room somewhere in the hospital and Jack cursed the bad and ironic timing as Mac flinched at the retched sound, his hand finding Jack's, latching on with surprising strength. "I'm not so sure we will."

"Don't say that." Jack scooted his chair even closer to the bed. "A guy can't let his thoughts go there, not for a second. You know that, brother."

"The power of positive thinking didn't save those ANP's." Mac's gaze grew brighter, and Jack's fears that the unit of Afghanistan police had died horribly was confirmed by the reflection of misery in his friend's eyes. "It didn't help Stills and Candler. It didn't save Pena."

"I know that, kid." Jack shook his head, wishing he had a pep talk that might offer anything but patronizing garbage. "This place is hell, there's no way around that. People die gruesome deaths they don't deserve, and the atrociousness of what happens in the name of war and peace is beyond description, and not what you signed on for, but focusing on the worst case scenario only takes away from the likelihood of completing the end mission."

"Mission?" Mac's frown deepened, looking almost as pained as he had back in the cavern. Jack suspected this agony was much worse because there was no surgery to fix it. "I'm not even sure what my mission is anymore."

"I hear you, bud." Sometimes Jack felt the same way. He used to think his mission was to defend his country from those who would relish in its downfall. To engage, with every last breath if necessary, to defeat the tyranny of terror that had dared to breach the boundaries of the USA. Somewhere along the way, his priority had shifted, so that he fought not for an idea any longer, but for his brothers in arms. The grand notion he'd held onto had solidified, become corporeal. Jack fought for his team, he battled to protect his own. Mac was at the top of the list, a walking, talking reason to fight.

"I used to think I could make a difference here," Mac's voice was hoarse, his words choked with emotion that Jack could see building in his tired blue gaze. Drugs offered a buffer to keep pain away, but they had a way of leveling a man's defenses, even ones as sturdy and well-tested as Mac's. "But now I think I'm just as foolish as my grandfather said."

"You're nobody's fool, Mac." Jack might have thought the EOD a little naïve, and a bit optimistic, but he'd never mark him as anything but brave. He returned Mac's fierce grip when one tear escaped the kid's pale lashes to slide tortuously down his face. "You have saved a lot of lives in the years you've been over here. Including those of my team. You've saved my hide a time or two if my memory serves me correctly. You know I'm right. Numbers don't lie. If you hadn't showed up, there'd be a lot less of us soldiers walking around."

"What I know is that I came here thinking I could fix things." Mac swiped a hand over his cheek in an angry attempt to wipe away what Jack was sure the kid thought a sign of his weakness. "Now I'm not sure if that anything or anyone can fix what is wrong here."

"You did fix things, bud. You fixed a whole lot of things, just not on the grand scale that I think you intended." Jack leaned his elbows on the edge of the mattress, holding Mac's gaze. He tried to imagine an eighteen year old Mac leaving the ivory tower of MIT to march into the trenches. The kid was so smart, but some wisdom only came with age and a whole hell of a lot of disappointment. "But certain things, like this war for instance that has been raging in some form another for untold years is not one of them. People are going to keep killing other people here. Children are going to keep dying. Soldiers are going to keep pouring themselves into this cause and their blood is going to keep spilling onto the sand as long as our government thinks there's something to gain from it all. Your big brain, no matter how amazing, and your good intentions, no matter how honorable and selfless, are not going to change that."

"You are terrible at pep talks." Mac brushed at another traitorous tear that had breached the dam of his defenses.

"I'm sorry, Kiddo. It's true."

The kid glared at Jack, looking much more like himself. "Are you here to make me feel better or worse?"

"I'm here because I have an offer for you." Jack, buoyed by Mac's clear and more typical irritation at his unsolicited observation and advice, decided now was the time to offer the kid a lifeline, one he prayed Mac would latch onto. "There are other ways to make a difference in the world, to stop terrorism, to save lives."

"If you're going to tell me to go back to school, don't." Mac's blue eyes hardened to sun-struck ice in an instant. Jack had taking to calling it DEFCON Walls Up. The kid would soon shut down, effectively shutting Jack out. The conversation would be ended before it even got started. "I already hear that from my grandfather and Bozer. I don't need it from you, too."

"Hey, now." Jack lifted his hand in surrender, having learned a thing about skirting Mac's defenses so not to send him scurrying for cover behind his favorite self-protection barricade. Jack had always been good at fancy foot work, and this dance was becoming routine with Mac. "I'd never propose you go live a life of leisure, full of keg parties and endless streams of nerdy chicks who look like homely librarians by day and hot music video goddesses by night."

Mac's mouth twitched. "You really have no idea what MIT is like."

"I know it couldn't have been all that great if you chose to leave it for Uncle Sam." On the contrary, Jack imagined it was a perfect place for Mac. A safe haven and a little piece of Heaven to someone who probably hadn't ever fit in a normal, by the book, kind of world. It made Mac's sacrifice all the more meaningful. Jack was born and bred military. He'd grown up on Air Forces bases around the country. He'd always intended to follow in his old man's footsteps one way or another, even if his father had insisted Jack at least try college first if only to play ball. Mac was a different story all together. "But I think I know a place you might be able to make a real impact without having Taliban forces plotting new ways to kill you on a daily basis. You can travel the world in style, stopping the bad guys in your own way, instead of being forced to kill them. I'm talking about serving justice, instead of being another body to march on the frontline."

"I'm listening," Mac said, even though his eyes had drooped a little on their own volition. Jack suspected the good drugs were tugging at the kid's resolve.

"How do you feel about James Bond?"

"Are you suggesting we go work for MI6 because if you are I think you might be the one with the concussion."

Jack snorted. "The United States has its own share of spies, my friend. Have you never heard of Jason Bourne?"

"You told me you hated the CIA. You said you'd never go back to The Company and…" Mac tried to sit up a bit more.

Jack shook his head, holding up a hand to ward off further points from Mac. "I know what I said and I'm not suggesting we work for Langley, but Hammond knows some people and all I'm saying is we maybe hear them out."

"We?" Mac's eyes widened in almost comical surprise.

"The thing is I kind of made this promise to watch your back." Jack motioned from him to Mac. "If you're going to do something crazy, like become a super spy, then you'll need me to tag along, if only to help you with your wardrobe. I've seen you in your civilian attire."

"You'd leave Delta?" Mac wasn't dissuaded by Jack's attempt at joking. He was dogged when it came to getting a straight answer.

"Like I said, there are other ways to serve our country." Jack shook his head, not willing to lie to the kid, but also knowing that the exact ins and outs of his role in the service might give Mac reason to hesitate in accepting the offer. "You've made me realize that maybe killing all the bad guys isn't the end game I thought it was."

"My tour's not up…" Mac started, his fingers picking absently on the tape holding the I.V. in his hand.

"Neither is mine, but that doesn't mean that Hammond can't grease some wheels. You'd be surprised how the right pull can make time speed up." Jack gripped Mac's wrist, halting the kid's fidgeting and forcing him to meet Jack's gaze. "What do you say, brother? Do you trust me?"

"Yeah." Jack tried not to be insulted when another look of genuine surprise crossed the kid's face, as if he had some sort of breakthrough, finally figuring out just where Jack fell on that giant periodic table that was Mac's life. Jack hoped it was somewhere relatively close to the spot Mac claimed for his own. "I guess I do."

"Then be prepared to witness one of those bona fide miracles you don't believe exists." The Delta operator managed a megawatt grin, knowing that a little thing like plate tectonics would never stop him from saving Mac. "Because Ol'Jack is about to cast a mountain right into the sea."

The End…for now.


End file.
